Balas
Porque puedo viajar
De un salto a las estrellas
Y guardarlas como si fuesen moras del camino
Puedo volver a la velocidad de la luz
A cada rincón de los tiempos vividos
Y llueven los dardos de los poetas
Los pianistas empiezan a disparar
Y en medio del humo surge un verso brutal
No necesita a nadie que
Venga a salvarle
Nada le hará cambiar de opinión
Tiene todas esas balas
Con las que podría matarte
Suerte que hoy esté de buen humor
Porque puedo recorrer calles de huesos
Cabalgar el veneno de un antiguo licor
Volver a la cama sudorosa del primer amor
Y llueven los dardos de los poetas
Los pianistas empiezan a disparar
Y en medio del humo surge un verso brutal
No necesita a nadie que
Venga a salvarle
Nada le hará cambiar de opinión
Tiene todas esas balas
Con las que podría matarte
Suerte que hoy esté de buen humor
Porque puedo volver
A las garras polvorientas
A las fuentes disecadas
Las escamas sedientas
Al jardín abandonado de las hojas muertas
A los raíles nevados del ocaso pendiente
Y a los que gritan en el tintero
Soñando desde las raíces de la tierra
Y llueven los dardos de los poetas
Los pianistas empiezan a disparar
Y en medio del humo surge un verso brutal
No necesita a nadie que
Venga a salvarle
Nada le hará cambiar de opinión
Tiene todas esas balas
Con las que podría matarte
Suerte que hoy esté de buen humor
Cree que el tiempo pone
A cada uno en su lugar
El que no haya pagao' tendrá que pagar
Tiene todas esas balas
Con las que podría matarte
Suerte que haya decidido tener piedad
Bullets
Because I can travel
In one leap to the stars
And keep them as if they were blackberries along the way
I can go back at the speed of light
To every corner of the times lived
And the poets' darts rain down
The pianists start to shoot
And in the midst of the smoke, a brutal verse emerges
He doesn't need anyone
To come and save him
Nothing will make him change his mind
He has all those bullets
With which he could kill you
Lucky that he's in a good mood today
Because I can walk through streets of bones
Ride the poison of an ancient liquor
Return to the sweaty bed of first love
And the poets' darts rain down
The pianists start to shoot
And in the midst of the smoke, a brutal verse emerges
He doesn't need anyone
To come and save him
Nothing will make him change his mind
He has all those bullets
With which he could kill you
Lucky that he's in a good mood today
Because I can go back
To the dusty claws
To the dried-up sources
The thirsty scales
To the abandoned garden of dead leaves
To the snowy rails of the pending sunset
And to those who shout in the inkwell
Dreaming from the roots of the earth
And the poets' darts rain down
The pianists start to shoot
And in the midst of the smoke, a brutal verse emerges
He doesn't need anyone
To come and save him
Nothing will make him change his mind
He has all those bullets
With which he could kill you
Lucky that he's in a good mood today
He believes that time puts
Everyone in their place
Who hasn't paid will have to pay
He has all those bullets
With which he could kill you
Lucky that he has decided to show mercy