Ron de Motril

The rum from Motril doesn't mix well with me
This humanity, all on the same old train
In the wild mountain, I can see all the freedom fit

To sleep without noise to hear
Let the Sun fall, die by the sea
Staying would drive me crazy
Lose my identity, without needing to depend

I fear to walk
I've broken both feet climbing
Thorns in the sock
Human, in my discomfort, I feel

Now I have crows in the garden
My bullets shoot backwards
The clever ones looking to transgress
And the living ones who would never come here

To return would seem like wanting to intoxicate myself
Blind myself in my old age