Cancíon Sin Puñales

Through a beating, losing the wonder
A man is being made
In the early morning
If it’s not morning, the city doesn’t care
'Cause during the day, a soul grumbles
And there’s no calendar to cover its pain
The week drags on when there’s no passion

An empty room, the bare wall
And a picture that explains
What happened in the nights
When it seemed like everything was close
Not even distant love could stop it
Correcting old mistakes on an empty stomach
And he’s left alone like on the first day

Sometimes he embraces melancholy
Like it’s an unworthy act for the big cities
Then he turns to old memories
That balance everything so one can keep going
Shaping the glass that maybe tomorrow
Will be drunk by another mouth that knows nothing

Through a beating, losing the wonder
A man is being made
In the early morning
Shaping the glass that maybe tomorrow
Will be drunk by another mouth that knows nothing
Shaping the glass that maybe tomorrow
Will be drunk by another mouth that knows nothing