Esos Locos Bajitos

Often children resemble us
And thus give us the first satisfaction
Those who move with our gestures
Grabbing everything around them
Those crazy little ones who stand up
With their eyes wide open
Disregarding schedules or customs and those
For their own good, (they say) must be tamed

Child, stop messing around with the ball, child
That's not said, that's not done
That's not touched, they carry our gods
And our language, with our grudges
And our future, that's why it seems to us they are made of rubber
And that our stories are enough for them to sleep

We insist on directing their lives
Without knowing the trade and without vocation
We pass on our frustrations
With warm milk and in every song, child
Stop messing around with the ball, child, that's not said
That's not done, that's not touched

Nothing and no one can prevent them from suffering
That the clock hands move forward
That others decide for them, that they make mistakes
That they grow up and one day say goodbye