Con El Agua En Los Pies

Weathered faces, anger of waiting 6 in the afternoon
Liniers station, garbage on the tracks, hunger
In the mouths another day of peeling off the
Skin hanging from the trains like mandrills
The sixth getting wet under the armpit, marked backs
From carrying old bags one more day
Of stew and tough luck, always scraping
The pot, looking pain in the face, storm meat
Forgotten ones with water in
Their feet, it's not hard to hate. a kid and his
Poxirran baptism, Halloween night in
Villa Tesei, streets dripping with the smell of a razor
Learning to steal or learning to run, the
Glory of cheap wine without soda, the
Same sorrows that crush faith, tired step
And dry tears, another day without news
From God, always scraping the pot
Looking pain in the face, storm meat, the
Forgotten ones with water in their feet, it's not hard to hate...