En Las Calles de Liniers

In the filthy corners of Liniers, I lose my days
'Cause I can't escape
The strong attachment to the illusion reflects in the shop windows
Of a fake shopping mall

The crowded idol worship is drawn in long lines
To worship and not think
The dead stone of the false miracle
Keeps hiding the truth

Unsatisfied, renegades who deny themselves
Lacking calm and compassion
They search for the triangle in the lines to feed their perversion
And jerk off in solitude

They also enjoy pretending to be innocent
They're harpies, slaves to the TV
Living for the outside, addicted to life
They seek cash and passion

I only transmit what I observe
It's not a figment of my mind, no
This happens when I contemplate the present
In the streets of Liniers

But when the Sun, my faithful witness, hits the asphalt
And melts the tar
The nauseating fumes of the stagnant trash
Hinder my thoughts

On the corner, a cop is fighting with his girl
'Cause she was never faithful
Under the train tracks, the beggars roll around
Very few want to look at them

And the young human horde that descends from the trains
Desperate and crazy
Contaminates my mind, and I try to love them somehow
So I never have to return

I only transmit what I observe
It's not a figment of my mind, no
This happens when I contemplate the present
In the streets of Liniers

In the streets, in the streets, in the streets of Liniers