Y crece este sabor amargo,

como si la vescula del mundo

se hubiera mamado demasiado

con esa dudosa ginebra

de sangre vertida, msculo

exhausto corazn de lgrima

y para completar las cosas,

la rueda de mi auto pinchada,

y vos no pass por esta ventana

y se acab el tabaco, y eso

no es nada, tambin el humo

y que hacer con este fuego,

y quizs exagero, solo brasa,

pero nunca ceniza, nunca,

cardiograma plano de anestesia

de 1+1=2 y maana me jubilar

y que hacer con esta brasa

y esta tierra Latina tan frtil

de vida, de horror y de danza

que en mis venas pasan cien aos

por cada da que sigo vivo

y sigue latiendo esta tierra

este maz condor canela rumba

con tanto mal caminando tus paisajes

que si no fuera tan trgico de fosas

memorias olvidos nios vientres

si no fuera, sera

es, ser, fu o fuera

dignidad rebelde, humo

de fogatas, de rostros, pauelos

y del miedo del rey desnudo

dije desnudo pero

ni cuerpo ni organos lo habitan

de nudo de ignorancia temor codicia

campos, humos, horizontes, pasos, prean

pariendo cada da, que digo, siglo,

que sigo vivo, late tierra canela rumba,

camina paisaje brasa que aqu sabemos

tabaco habr por siempre y humo

y si est la ventana ests vos

y si ests vos la Tierra Sin Mal no ha muerto

maz condor canela rumba

memoria ardiente nio vientre

y as como y no lo pregunto,

va jams a acabarse el humo?

And grows, this bitter taste

as if the gall bladder of the world

had drunk more than enough

of this dubious Gin

of spilled blood, muscle

exhausted heart of the tear

and for making things more complete

the tire of my car flat

and you are not passing through this window

and the tobacco is over, and this

is nothing, also the smoke

and what to do with this fire

and maybe I'm exhaggerating, only an ember

but never ashes, never

cardiogram flat of anaesthesia

of 1+1=2, and tomorrow I'll retire

and what to do with this ember

and this Latino land so fertil

of life, of horror, and of dance

that in my veins one hundred years pass

for each day that I'm alive

this land keeps on beating

this corn cndor cinnamon rumba,

with so much evil walking your landscapes

that if it were not so tragic with graves

memories, oblivion, children, bellies

if it were not, would be

is, will be or was

rebel dignity, smoke

of fires, of faces, scarves

and the fear of the naked king

I said naked but really

no body, no organs inhabit him

knot of ignorance fear greed,

farms, smokes, horizons, steps

impregnating each day

what I'm saying, centuries

that I stay alive

palpitate land cinnamon rumba

walk landscape ember, that here we know

tobacco will be forever and smoke

and if the window is here you are here

and if you are here the Land Without Evil has not died

corn cndor cinnamon rumba

burning memory, child, belly

and thus how, and I'm not asking it,

will ever, the smoke be over?.