Yo Me Bajo En Atocha
Con su boina calada, con sus guantes de seda
Su sirena varada, sus fiestas de guardar
Su vuelva usted mañana, su salvese quien pueda
Su partidita de mus, su fulanita de tal
Con su todo es ahora, con su nada es eterno
Con su rap y su chotis, con su okupa y su skin
Aunque muera el verano y tenga prisa el invierno
La primavera sabe que la espero en Madrid
Con su otoño velázquez, con su torre picasso
Su santo y su torero, su atleti, su borbón
Sus gordas de botero, sus hoteles de paso
Su taleguito de hash, sus abuelitos al Sol
Con su hoguera de nieve, su verbena y su duelo
Su dieciocho de julio, su catorce de abril
A mitad de camino entre el infierno y el cielo
Yo me bajo en atocha, yo me quedo en Madrid
Aunque la noche delire como un pájaro en llamas
Aunque no dé a la gloria la Puerta de Alcalá
Aunque la maja desnuda cobre quince y la cama
Aunque la maja vestida no se deje besar
Pasarelas cibeles, cárcel de yeserías
Puente de los franceses, tascas de chamberí
Ya no sueña aquel niño que soñó que escribía
Corazón de María, no me dejes así
Corte de los milagros, virgen de la almudena
Chabolas de uralita, palacio de cristal
Con su no pasarán, con sus vivan las caenas
Su cementerio civil, su banda municipal
He llorado en Venecia
Me he perdido en Manhattan
He crecido en la habana, he sido un paria en París
México me atormenta, Buenos Aires me mata
Pero siempre hay un tren
Que desemboca en Madrid
Pero siempre hay un niño que envejece en Madrid
Pero siempre hay un coche que derrapa en Madrid
Pero siempre hay un fuego
Que se enciende en Madrid
Pero siempre hay un barco que naufraga en Madrid
Pero siempre hay un sueño
Que despierta en Madrid
Pero siempre hay un vuelo de regreso a Madrid
I Get Off at Atocha
With his beret pulled down, with his silk gloves
His stranded siren, his holidays to keep
His 'come back tomorrow,' his every man for himself
His game of mus, his so-and-so
With his everything is now, with his nothing is eternal
With his rap and his chotis, with his squatter and his skinhead
Even if summer dies and winter is in a hurry
Spring knows I wait for her in Madrid
With his Velázquez autumn, with his Picasso tower
His saint and his bullfighter, his Atleti, his Bourbon
His Botero fatties, his quickie hotels
His little hash bag, his grandparents in the sun
With his snow bonfire, his fair and his duel
His July eighteenth, his April fourteenth
Halfway between heaven and hell
I get off at Atocha, I stay in Madrid
Even if the night raves like a bird in flames
Even if the Puerta de Alcalá doesn't lead to glory
Even if the naked maja charges fifteen and the bed
Even if the dressed maja won't let you kiss her
Cibeles catwalks, plaster jail
Frenchmen's bridge, Chamberí taverns
That child who dreamed of writing no longer dreams
Heart of Mary, don't leave me like this
Miracle court, Virgin of Almudena
Asbestos shanties, crystal palace
With their 'they shall not pass,' with their 'long live the chains'
Their civil cemetery, their municipal band
I've cried in Venice
I've gotten lost in Manhattan
I've grown up in Havana, I've been a pariah in Paris
Mexico torments me, Buenos Aires kills me
But there's always a train
That arrives in Madrid
But there's always a child who ages in Madrid
But there's always a car that skids in Madrid
But there's always a fire
That ignites in Madrid
But there's always a ship that sinks in Madrid
But there's always a dream
That awakens in Madrid
But there's always a return flight to Madrid
Escrita por: Fito Páez / Joaquín Sabina