I am a slave again,
I wake up again.
Last night
left me without gas
and that shitty clock
that is already starting to fight
with my time.
I look at the ceiling
I look at the floor
and on the guitar I find nothing
but the waste of another song.
And I get up anyway
the same, as I did yesterday,
with the vein of losing
joy little by little
like a rock
that erodes and falls.
And I run away,
my time is gone.
There is 91 and the general peace;
now, I am an employee
of the capital of this hell.
I get to the Center
which is all protest:
the excluded complain
and the congress that stinks.
and I just want to kick the system
to another place .
But today I sign the same.
the same, as I did yesterday,
with the aim of being a minor part
of this whole (which does not close me
and which It locks me up badly).
The day ends and in the glass painting
from 60 to the constitution, I see the rain
falling with fury, emptying the streets,
changing our hatred of color...
...the early morning sees me alone at the table
watching the world on television...
I don't change anything and go back to bed
thinking that maybe tomorrow, everything
will be a little less worse than today

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