Primavera Negra

The night crawls like a leper
rotting flesh soaked in booze,
every dice is loaded
and every corner's a gamble...
neighborhoods can be trenches
when the war comes in a small bottle
and there's a music that won't sleep
(music of empty hands)
Black spring.
(there are many who want to get fat)
black spring.
(rumors from the sewers)
(music of empty hands)
A slaughterhouse at every stoplight
and skinny cows waiting for a green light
the street buttons up to the neck
to cradle the knife better...
with my back against the wall it's easier to throw a punch
killers never bluff
I wouldn't bet a dime on this calm...I wouldn't bet a dime
Black spring.