Quisiera

Sitting at a table
Paticoja and dismembered
Today I stop to take stock
Of a past life

There's a broken folder
Old photos, dirty sheets
Written with sweat
Sweat that burns and wets

I'm the rat in your house
I'm the time that rots you
I'm the whore on the corner
I'm ashes in the fire
Nonsense, what a foolishness

How much false debauchery
I can't enjoy anymore
I don't live without fear
Now it's my turn to dream

I hum from the street
A demonstration
People in struggle
People with ideals
Maybe they're right or not

What anxiety, what irony
What apathy, what disillusion
What weariness, what boredom

And maybe life will pass by
Without stopping on a good bench
In any square
To smoke a cigarette

And I'm losing my mind
My fist is already rusty
From hitting the roof so much

And I wish I were drunk
And I wish I dreamed less
I wish for a minute
Where I don't miss you

And I wish for another guitar
And I wish for another head
I wish to be happy
And I wish for sadness

I have a blank sheet
In front of me saying
Come here, bastard
Why are you trembling with fear
Let go of that agony
And sing me your lament
Save me if you can
From this weak fire

What anxiety, what irony
What apathy, what disillusion
What weariness, what boredom

And maybe life will pass by
Without stopping on a good bench
In any square
To smoke a cigarette

And I'm losing my mind
My fist is already rusty
From hitting the roof so much

And I wish I were drunk
And I wish I dreamed less
I wish for a minute
Where I don't miss you

And I wish for another guitar
And I wish for another head
I wish to be happy
And I wish for sadness