Don Fermin
Cuando los libros que todavia no existen
Cuenten la historia de este rincón
Van a olvidarse ya lo se de Don Fermin
Por eso ahora mejor lo recuerdo yo
El que los viernes asaltaba su bodega
Encendia su pipa favorita
Y se pagaba la visita de una pebeta
Que podia ser su nieta...pero no era
Viejo de mierda decian
las viejas de mierda cuando lo veian
salir a la puerta vestido de fiesta
sin tener a donde ir
Y Don Fermin se reia y a veces fingia que las perseguia
Y las viejas entraban corriendo a su casa sin quererse ir
Cuando derrumben la casa en que vivia
Y pongan alguna pijeria al paso
Van a olvidarse ya lo se de Don Fermin
Porque el progreso no le canta a los fracasos
En esos tiempos que enviudaban las mujeres
El enviudo en el hospital de los infiernos
Y estuvo sin hablar con nadie tantos meses
Que hasta el tipo se creyo que estaba muerto
Viejo de mierda decian
las viejas de mierda cuando lo veian
salir a la puerta vestido de fiesta
sin tener a donde ir
Y Don Fermin se reia y a veces fingia que las perseguia
Y las viejas entraban corriendo a su casa sin quererse ir
Cuando se pasen por las bolas la memoria
Como revancha tanta cancha de baldio
Sembrando historia por ganarle tierra al rio
Sera como si nunca hubiesemos vivido
Por eso escribo esta cancion a un amigazo
Que es igual que si el me la escribiera a mi
Para romperles las pelotas con un fiasco
Cuando le salga campeon el porvenir
Viejo de mierda decian
las viejas de mierda cuando se moria
en la misma vereda que las perseguia
ahora quien se va a reir...
¿?
de tanto morir cogoteando la cara
contra la tristeza que habita en la misa y no deja dormir...
Don Fermin
When the books that do not yet exist
Tell the story of this corner
They will forget, I know, about Don Fermin
That's why now I remember him better
The one who on Fridays would raid his cellar
Light his favorite pipe
And pay for the visit of a young girl
Who could be his granddaughter... but she wasn't
Old bastard they would say
The old hags when they saw him
Leaving the house dressed up for a party
Without having anywhere to go
And Don Fermin would laugh and sometimes pretend to chase them
And the old hags would run into his house without wanting to leave
When they demolish the house where he lived
And put some trendy place in its place
They will forget, I know, about Don Fermin
Because progress doesn't sing about failures
In those times when women became widows
He became a widower in the hospital of hells
And he went without speaking to anyone for so many months
That even he believed he was dead
Old bastard they would say
The old hags when they saw him
Leaving the house dressed up for a party
Without having anywhere to go
And Don Fermin would laugh and sometimes pretend to chase them
And the old hags would run into his house without wanting to leave
When they trample on the memory
As revenge for so many vacant lots
Sowing history to gain land from the river
It will be as if we had never lived
That's why I write this song for a great friend
Who is as if he were writing it to me
To annoy them with a flop
When the future becomes champion
Old bastard they would say
The old hags when he died
On the same sidewalk where he used to chase them
Now who will laugh...
??
From dying so much, necking the face
Against the sadness that dwells in the mass and doesn't let you sleep...