Adios negra, bienvenido pendejas

If I didn't believe in the madness of the thrush's throat
if I didn't believe that on the mountain
the trill and tremble hide.
If I didn't believe in the balance
in the reason of equilibrium
if I didn't believe in delirium
if I didn't believe in hope.
If I didn't believe in what I arranged
if I didn't believe in my path
if I didn't believe in my sound
if I didn't believe in my silence.
What would be,
what would be the mace without quarry.
A bundle made of strings and tendons
a mess of flesh with wood
an instrument without better gleams
that spotlights mounted for scene.
What would be, heart, what would be
what would be the mace without quarry.
A traitor's applause testifier
a servant of past in new cup
an eternalizer of sunset gods
joy boiled with rag and sequin.
What would be, heart, what would be
what would be the mace without quarry.
If I didn't believe in the hardest thing
if I didn't believe in desire
if I didn't believe in what I believe
if I didn't believe in something pure.
If I didn't believe in every wound
if I didn't believe in the one that rounds
if I didn't believe in what hides
making brother of life.
If I didn't believe in who listens to me
if I didn't believe in what hurts
if I didn't believe in what remains
if I didn't believe in what struggles.[/swf]