Falsos i Absurds - La Gossa Sorda, Ciudad Jara

Dóna comba bomba

Quan ix als diaris

Notícia i primícia són sinònims rei

Heu aconseguit sense massa esforç

Enganyar a molta gent

Furgaré on no toca i no aniré a l’infern

Dóna comba bomba

Quan ix a la tele

Notícia i escàndol esdevenen dogma, rei

El perquè es confon

I la balança cau perquè no suporta el pes

Furgaré on no toca i no aniré a l’infern

Riures de la realitat

I contar-la fent com fan

Blanc o negre, roig o verd

Que plore la veritat

I ara endevina:

Qui és eixe que amagava

Bragues als calaixos?

Què trista pot ser la glòria!

No els preocupa l’equilibri

Són els amos del trapezi

Són capaços de fer-nos creure

Falsos absurds

Callen els muts

No els preocupa l’equilibri

Són els amos del trapezi

Són capaços de fer-nos creure

Falsos i absurds

Llei de l’embut

Amagueu-se venen dispostos

Les riallades són massa fortes

El ridícul una ganyota

Que ells la fan molt bé

Y sigue siendo necesaria la respuesta colectiva

Entre valles de lamentos y montañas malheridas

No apagará nuestra llama ese viento

Aunque nos falte el aliento y no se cierre la herida

Y hay una gossa que ladra rabiosa y que ruge

Grandiosa una revolución

No nos afecta tu veneno, que no, y tus jaulas

Sirven de poco si nos queda el habla

Que la tele és un circ i el món una estratègia

Sólo es tablero de la guerra

Confonen les paraules i amaguen l’evidència

Hay tanta cabecita enferma

Tiembla, que empuñaremos de nuevo las piedras

Retumbaremos por toda la tierra

Nuevas raíces despiertan

No els preocupa l’equilibri

Són els amos del trapezi

Són capaços de fer-nos creure

Falsos absurds

Callen els muts

No els preocupa l’equilibri

Són els amos del trapezi

Són capaços de fer-nos creure

Falsos i absurds

Llei de l’embut

La història d’una gossa faenera que es va fer una patera

I amb la lluna guerilllera se’n va anar mar endins

Camina cada dia i vigila i fuig de la Guàrdia que et jugues la vida

Camina entre preguntes i pols, esquivant garrotades continuant la partida

Camina que no és qüestió de sort

I corre abans que arribe la mort

Colpeja fort

I respira entre canuts de matinada, diuen que és dimoni.

El paradigma de l’odi

I obri una altra porta a la batalla, obri la veda als seus somnis,

que el temps s’acaba

I abans de que rebente tot

Se sent la veu del nostre tro

I abans de que rebente tot

Farem saó

Give comba bomb

When it comes out in the newspapers

News and scoop are synonymous with king

You got it without too much effort

Deceive many people

I will dig where it does not touch and I will not go to hell

Give comba bomb

When he goes on TV

News and scandal become dogma, king

The reason is confusing

And the scales fall because they can't stand the weight

I will dig where it does not touch and I will not go to hell

Laughter from reality

And count it as they do

White or black, red or green

Let him weep for the truth

And now guess what:

Who is the one he was hiding

Panties in drawers?

How sad the glory can be!

They don't care about balance

They are the masters of the trapeze

They are able to make us believe

False nonsense

The silent ones are silent

They don't care about balance

They are the masters of the trapeze

They are able to make us believe

False and absurd

Funnel law

Hide come ready

The laughter is too loud

The ridiculous grimace

That they do it very well

And the collective response is still needed

Between valleys of lamentation and wounded mountains

That wind will not put out our flame

Even if we are short of breath and the wound does not close

And there's a bitch barking angrily and roaring

Great a revolution

We are not affected by your poison, which is not, and your cages

They are of little use if we are left speechless

That TV is a circus and the world a strategy

It's just a war board

They confuse words and hide evidence

There are so many sick little heads

It shakes, that we will wield the stones again

We will reverberate throughout the earth

New roots are awakening

They don't care about balance

They are the masters of the trapeze

They are able to make us believe

False nonsense

The silent ones are silent

They don't care about balance

They are the masters of the trapeze

They are able to make us believe

False and absurd

Funnel law

The story of a bitch who became a patera

And with the guerrilla moon, he went out to sea

Walk every day and watch and run away from the Guard who is risking your life

He walks between questions and dust, dodging beatings continuing the game

Walk that is not a matter of luck

And run before death comes

Hit hard

And he breathes in the morning, they say he's a demon.

The paradigm of hatred

And open another door to battle, open the ban on your dreams,

that time is running out

And before it all bursts

The voice of our thunder is heard

And before it all bursts

We will do so