Misiles Con Mantequila

Going from here to there
Without going anywhere
In eternal midnight.
I pick a flower from the garden,
A little sprig of parsley
In the big mess of the world.

There's so much bullshit talker
Yelling at us: "put some balls,
Let's sweat!"
God gave us a penalty kick and the goalie is Satan.
Changing judges, I can't take it anymore.

I ask: nothing, is there nothing left? Just the end?
I ask: nothing, is there nothing left? ...

Going from here to there,
Without going anywhere,
Shining dawn.
Impatient and dry-mouthed
Missiles with butter
Are falling from above.

Money is very violent:
It steals, kills, and roams free;
It hangs the price on your neck.

(But kid, that's not said, kid, that's not touched!
Take your hand off your dick and wipe your mouth!)
Parents are a mess...
And to make you a man and not turn out gay,
Daddy pays for the round in a shell.

Life is a slow-motion suicide.
I ask nothing, is there nothing left, just waiting...

While death waits,
Kneeling, in the living room.
While asses bleed, the wounds...
Of this blessed city,
Of this damn city,
Of this rotten city
...that every time and every time and every time:
It stinks a little more.

So rowdy is the drunkenness.
It comes and takes over all your sorrows, burns your loneliness.
Bring that glass, bring that hug,
Let's toast, brother, to all the bad...
...maybe the good is yet to come.

I ask: nothing? Is there nothing left?
Just the end?