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THE MARCH OF RAGE |
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(I feel) rage when I see them grinning
once they have bought off their rights
Rage, when they play the moralist
and choose artists as the target for their chase
(I feel) rage when they show off
their hypocresy in broad daylight
Rage, fierce rage
A rage that can be shaped in verse
(I feel) rage against those who grab our possessions
wearing subreptitious gloves
At the one who pulls the strings
in a cosmic marionette show
Against he who cheats at card games
so that he always gets the strongest card.
The sword in one hand to exert all his power
and in the other hand, the stick that beats, and beats, and beats
March: one, two...
I can´t bear the sight of such an organized lie
without showing my rage till I make myself hoarse
(I feel) rage ´cause they kill unscrupulously
but nothing is ever cleared
Rage, ´cause we´re robbed by criminals
but we´re ripped off by shop owners as well
(I feel) rage because everything is forbidden
even what I´ll do anyway
Rage, because no bail can be posted
when actually it´s our hope they want in prison
Those who rule the world
keep it rotten and split into two
in their struggle to conqueer the other´s half
either by exploitation or by force
(I feel) rage, then, when they want me
to have my hair cut with no real reason
It´s much less harmful to let your hair grow free
than shaping freedom with sticky brilliantine
March: one, two...
I can´t stand witnessing such an organized mess
without showing my rage till I make myself hoarse
Rage makes my voice hoarse
Rage, free from guns and from bombs
With our fingers in a V (for vctory)
Rage, which also means Hope
This is the March of Rage, this is the March of Faith |
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HOW ABOUT A MATE? |
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(Singing translation of the song
¿Me cebás un mate?-
Album Mateína 1986-)
Monday early morning
duty day´s calling
just as my eyelids barely blink
give us a kiss baby
shall you warm the kettle
or would you like me to heat it for you
Chorus:
How about a mate
makes you want to rise
´preciate a mate
wouldn´t that be nice.
And if she´s felling tired
or completely knackerd
I´ll have to get it going on my own
if not my son will do it
he´ll go and heat the water
´cause he enjoys toking too.
Chorus
Don´t blow suck that hot pipe
feel it ´s energy
and pass it to me
and the day has just begun.
The generous tradition
so noble and shared ritual
it´s like an olden heritage of man
and in the mate-country
the cow-hand brew passing
the kettle round by the fire side
Chorus
And now that time is ticking
you make me keep or trucking
in gear with the speed of this town
my dear brother mate
thrasher of the people
of those that relly work
and do not too
Chorus
Knock me out whith those mates
put me in the line
they´re really impressive
they boost my mind!
now I´m felling so high. |
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TOUGH KILLING HANDS |
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Hard hands to kill
Fine hands give the order to kill
Raymond
Right now,
a pair of hands like the ones
at the end of your arm
knead the danger
pull the trigger
or come across a wound,
a bleeding waterfall,
like the tie on your chest
While your eyes watch me sing
and your ears soften to the sound of music
there are eyes either bursting
or aiming at a target,
but they hit successfully
And a thousand ears are blown away
A thousand innocent brave heads (are blown away)
Right now.
And now, somewhere else,
while you follow the rhythm
with the tip of your shoe,
there are people stamping
their boots on the frost
They are marching in the chill of dawn
a dawn which might never reach noon
But right now too,
somewhere in a distant spot
delicate hands
condecorate lapels,
they spike on the maps
their elegant nails
and sacrify other people´s lives
by sending out their troops
Hands washed up
in non-commitment waters...
Pilates, locked up in their workrooms
Christs, out to the battlefront
While my song bursts with life
the youngsters are falling dead
I can feel it
So my song can´t come to an end
And I spit on the killer
It doesn´t matter which "ism"
(they belong to)
What does imperialism matter?
or communism, or maoism?
The youngsters are falling dead
and I can feel it
Though killing hands,
Fine hands give the order to kill
Right now
Death tears an idealistic boy to pieces
And I play the guitar
and you listen. |
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THE WORKING MAN |
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(Singing Translation of the
original song “El Jornalero”
Miguel Cantilo y Punch(1977)
I am, I am a working man and every day
I earn and spend every penny
I need a little money I need money
to pay my daily subway
the mirror of my story are the soles
of the shoes upon my feat
because I am a working man singing my songs
for a living to feed my family
Drip drip dripping slowly
from my forehead
go the hopes of a millon years
save saving for my future more excesses
of the pittance that I play with
because I am a worker I am a journey man
and my pocket´ s chock-full of holes.
I never worry
I sit down and everything just passes by
this is my story I just shit on everythig
all I can trust in is my woman and my family
because the people treat me whit indifference
the music will find me
the music will bind me to the people who live
the rock and roll.
I know that I´m a stranger and I´m working
in a city full of strangers
I don´t earn what I want
but I want what I earn whith my hands
because I am a working man singing
my songs for the people who live their rock and roll
who live their rock and roll
who live their rocking
who live their rocking
who live their rock and roll |
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THINKING |
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(Singing translation of the original song
“El rock del pensamiento” Miguel Cantilo
y Punch 1978)
You don´t drive your thinking
I think your thinking is driving you
ten thousand words a minute
comming through comming through
what are you thinking ?
what are you thinking you!
Judges and juries talking in your head
everything yor eyes have seen
but if we could see in a sea of silence
maybe we could comprehend comprehend
Baby we can comprehend!
That I don´t do my thinking
I think my thinking is doing me
try to stop the ticking of your drive machine
and you´ll see how hard it can be
thinking of the future thing of the past
and the present passes by Bye Bye!
He´s allways thinking she´s allways thinking
everybody´s thinking
but has anyone found the answer?
has anyone got their freedom?
No! No no! No no!
It aint what you´re thinking
stop what you´re thinking
nothing´s ever how it seems
don´t read the papers
don´t watch the capers
showing on your T.V. screens
very intellectual very ineffectual
nobody knows what it means
Try to stop the talking of your mind machine
and you´ll see how hard it can be
allways in the future allways in the past
and the present passes by Bye bye bye bye!
Why are we thinking for the sake of thinking
why are we talking for the sake of talking
why are we working for thr sake of working
why are we killing for the sake of killing
why are we bweing for the sake of being... fooled. |
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I LIVE IN A DISTANT LANDS |
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(Singing translation by Cecilia Nazar. From the original song
“Yo vivo en un país” Miguel Cantilo)
I live in distant lands
which lie away from the world
only too close to the end
A neverending plain
where cattle peacefully graze
and ancestral solitude just lingers...
A cosmic desert covered in corn fields
inherited from old feudal regimes
still living…
which suddenly becomes a gravel road
and now and then spurts out a little town or city
I’m from the south
from way down south
from the extreme land in South America
way down beyond the carnival
a River Plate city dweller
I’m from the south, from way down south
and I love it
I come from distant lands
where silence and primal scream
find the right spot where they meet
I come from southern ends
where languages merge in one
delicate language at last
And I am falling off the melting pot
I’m spread out over all this dark brown soil
Much like local inhabitants of old
whole cultures devastated
by alcohol and fire.
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