El Bobo

With the force of a military train
The present moves lawlessly
The past won't come back
And chance will remain the king
You'll wear the clock as a yoke
And you'll go out to the street to die

You'll see endless rows of idiots
Failures pretending to be coaches
Socialists with Michelin chefs
Dictators making the approach
You'll follow the habit of tedium
And you'll seek love out of routine

You'll go to an altar out of obligation
The habit of social ghetto
You'll think that's how life should be lived
And you'll cry in hiding
You'll think you've lived
And wait like a fool for the end

You'll put on those jeans and dream
Of things you'll never have
Children will come, they'll fly away
Each friend will bring their mask
You'll have diets, complexes, and vices
And some God to console the pain

There'll be a struggle every end of the month
Budgets that won't be enough
Being happy might be for later
And you'll cry in hiding
You'll think you've lived
And wait like a fool for the end (hey)

You'll grow old and, with luck, a doctor
Will postpone your end for later
They'll put on your best tie
In your final cypress suit
If you left any possessions, you'll achieve
In your name, a farewell quarrel

You won't know if there's an afterlife
Likewise, you won't have anything to do
You can't live life in reverse
And you'll cry in hiding
You'll think you've lived
And wait like a fool for the end