Aquesta Vora - Dremen
Em diuen antipàtic, com explicar-ho en 10 cançons
Com explicar sensacions, vivint tan ràpid
I simular el que no som, eh?
Com explicar-los les goteres del meu àtic
Jo també vull un algo clar, amic
Però a la musica m'agra jugar amb fango
I mire més el món reial que el meu melic
I necessite provar, errar, fer algo
El cos demana el que demana
Jo soles fique veu a una inèrcia
A esta pulsió descontrolada
Que no enten les etiquetes, no de ciència
I el nervi toca les mans, idees venen
I el peu em marca el compàs, I les mans cremen
I el boli està ahí al costat, I mate a la soledat
I el que volíeu ha passat: Zoo I dremen
Aquesta vora, on tot arriba podrit I a deshora
Aquest infern, on fica normes I límits la gent
Y el mundo llora, de rabia y pena al ver una escena
Desoladora, que corrobora, que en esa jaula han metido un poema
Y me llaman antisocial
Cómo explicarlo sin hablar de crítica
Sin levantar ampollas, sin poner sal en las heridas
Sin sacarle colores a la polémica
La licencia poética, de decirte que hace tiempo
Que el norte se difumina, que la música hace
Caja en cada esquina, somos la puta más
Barata del gremio que nos domina
Disciplina, constancia, a mi me vale
Como fórmula, mantiene viva la sonrisa
Sin ganancias. La mirada incrédula sin importancia
Exagero como el velatorio del cura con ébola
Que nos quiten lo bailao el cosquilleo
El estómago llenito de crisálidas
Aún amo mi profesión entre tanto mamoneo
Cuando nos vemos las caras en las cuádrigas
This Edge - Dremen
They call me unfriendly, how to explain it in 10 songs
How to explain sensations, living so fast
And pretend to be what we are not, huh?
How to explain to them the leaks in my attic
I also want something clear, friend
But in music I like to play with mud
And I look more at the real world than my navel
And I need to try, to make mistakes, to do something
The body demands what it demands
I only give voice to an inertia
To this uncontrolled impulse
That doesn't understand labels, not of science
And the nerve touches the hands, ideas come
And the foot marks the beat, and the hands burn
And the pen is there next to me, and I kill the loneliness
And what you wanted has happened: Zoo and Dremen
This edge, where everything arrives rotten and untimely
This hell, where people set rules and limits
And the world cries, with anger and sorrow at seeing a scene
Desolate, that confirms, that in that cage they have put a poem
And they call me antisocial
How to explain it without talking about criticism
Without raising blisters, without putting salt in the wounds
Without coloring the controversy
The poetic license, to tell you that it's been a while
Since the north blurs, that music makes
Money on every corner, we are the cheapest
Whores of the guild that dominates us
Discipline, constancy, to me it's worth
As a formula, it keeps the smile alive
Without gains. The incredulous look of no importance
I exaggerate like the wake of the priest with Ebola
Let them take away what we've danced, the tickling
The stomach full of chrysalids
I still love my profession amidst so much bullshit
When we face each other in the chariots