How old the sun has gone! thought old DaSilva,
reclining in his armchair, awake and dreaming at times.
Contemplating memories between tobacco smoke,
in his humble room of cheap furniture.
I do not know about Ramiro; I have not received a letter,
and although I know that it is the destiny that all the children leave
I do not know how they forget so many shared sacrifices
and they go looking for ways when the old man does not need it.
There is no courtesy or right for the one who gets old;
we are treated from afar, with hypocritical respect.
They do not want to give me work and I do not want to beg.
With Social Security, pa 'vivir de a pod alcanzo
and between these four walls I feel death coming. (bis)
How old is the afternoon! thought old DaSilva,
looking at the swallows from the park bench.
Sometimes to get up I need you to help me,
and although I was ashamed, I give thanks and way,
and how much dog I find he wants to fuck with me. (bis)
Manuela, if you lived, maybe I would have hope
Oh, Manuela, if you lived, maybe I would have hope,
but I'm alone my old woman! and she expects to be tired,
is that I am alone my old woman and just wait tired.
How old the night is! thought old DaSilva,
and pressed the old ring, that Manuela left him;
and pressed the old ring, that his old woman left him.
And there they found him, in that chair sitting, Dead!
between dust and memories, butterflies from the past.
And as much as they tried, their open hands could not,
and as much as they tried, their open hands could not.
God bless you Carmelo; to Manuela and the old people. (Bis).
Only among all we can make this a better place :)