Las Cometas Siempre Vuelan En Agosto

We grew up with the weight of the past on our backs, everything seemed to be going wrong
Where women walk in fear on the street if they wear a skirt
Memories that gather dust with walnut ashes, everything seemed to be going wrong
And a shitty country, the nine o'clock news marks its end

Because humor had faded, masking so many scars
Blurring the promise that happy times would come
And even though a plane was a synonym for fire in the air
I know surrendering to the sentences of the past would be cowardly

Surely among the madness there are buried illusions
Although the night remains dark and we still don't see anything
Even if our knees tremble, we must walk the streets
There is not a single nightmare that is immune to ending

Because I know
That even the vestige of the past comes at a cost
And even on days with sadness on our faces
I know kites always fly in August

The Yes and the No split the victims in two
I think and my voice breaks
And magical realism tempts more than one to say goodbye

And even though I'm tired of complaining and the government improvises everything
I also have to join in, I'm not the man I always wanted to be
And maybe it sounds fake when I try to be so positive
Because there are more than 6000 reasons to keep being negative

Surely among the madness there are buried illusions
Although the night remains dark and we still don't see anything
Even if our knees tremble, we must walk the streets
There is not a single nightmare that is immune to ending

Because I know
That even the vestige of the past comes at a cost
And even on days with sadness on our faces
I know kites always fly in August