Calle Melancolía

Like someone traveling on the back of a somber mare
Through the city I walk, don't ask where
Perhaps seeking an encounter to brighten my day
And all I find are doors that deny what they hide

Chimneys pour out their smoke vomit
Towards a sky increasingly distant and high
On ochre walls spills the juice
Of a blood fruit grown on the asphalt

The countryside must be green by now, it must be Spring
An endless train crosses my gaze
The neighborhood where I live is no meadow
A desolate landscape of antennas and cables

I live at number seven, Melancholy Street
I've wanted to move to the neighborhood of joy for years
But whenever I try, the tram has already left
And on the stairs, I sit to whistle my melody

Like someone traveling aboard a mad ship
That comes from the night and goes nowhere
So my feet descend the slope of forgetfulness
Weary from walking so much without finding you

Then, back home, I light a cigarette
Organize my papers, solve a crossword
I get angry with the shadows that populate the hallways
And embrace the absence you leave in my bed

I climb your memory like a vine
That can't find windows to cling to, I am
That absurd epidemic suffered by the sidewalks
If you want to find me, you know where I am