Pompeya

Leaving Almafuerte, and my sorrow
Dodging the people sleeping there
Cobblestone street, witnesses of yesterday
Carts pass by, ghosts of the night

On the corner of the bar on La Plata and Saénz
Drunks fight, as usual
I'm crossing the Homero Manzi tracks
Which end at Buenos Aires station

Arriving at Perito, passing the fairs
The horizon looks dark on both sides
You hear a train coming, but nothing is going to happen
You will feel the adrenaline and fear in the air
And I go, again, for the same destiny that I live

Neighborhood that you once wrote about
At the beginning of a century

From here you can smell the stream
Coming in the distance from the sinister bridge

The kids from Alcorta, drunk on drugs, ask you for coins, hiding their sadness

Some go to the murga, others go to church
Either they pull the bag, or they live this song