In the neighborhood they mourn your absence
And they curse the brown of your destiny
The entire price was sold out in the old square
And the litronas in the Chinese stores
They offered for your memory
The boys from La Mina
In Barna it rains, they sing bulerias for you
You are neither a hero nor a scoundrel
But life hit you
From the gray periphery
Free I want to be, I want to be free
They sing in the galleries of La Modelo
In the patio they remember you, they bless you
With forty tacos no one was that old
Defeated king of the steering wheel
They no longer replace your tapes
In the old film library
Street vendors
They take the day off today
It is sad even to the wood
Today in the celestial suburbs,
He invites you in the worst club
To some Durruti wines.
A Seat 124,
Awaits you at the exit,
With the engine on,
Divine trumpets are playing
A song of the children.
Before you were born you were already meat of trena
Then you drank mirages through the needle
There has never been so much rage in a cell
And cirrhosis frustrated you the last escape
Justice is implacable
With those who have no money
And all that remains is to resist
Life in the periphery ,
Cruel always opens a wound
You were its scar
Today in the celestial suburbs... Bis
Today in the celestial suburbs,
Invites you in the worst dive
The Durruti wines are nearby.
A Seat 124,
It awaits you at the exit,
With the engine warm
An angel plays on the parrot,
A rumba of the kids.
Free I want to be free,
I want to be I want to be free.

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