Corbelles - ZOO

I estic buscant tantes respostes, que oblide les preguntes que m’he fet

Guanyant en impotència al ritme que perc drets

Pensant més en desitjos que en fets, plorant de ràbia

Volent fer paredons de les parets

Tombar el mur, obrir la gàbia, eixir del pou

Rega la vida amb nova sàvia l’home nou, Hugo viu

Al rostre del seu poble que diu «D'ací no passen»

Defenen el seu pa i les seues cases

I monta un numeret el amo de la empresa

Que plora si li expropien la riquessa

Això ja no és com era, han trobat la manera

Han olorat la sang, i ara té fam la fera

Les lleis ja no són lleis si sempre fallen

El rei ja no és el rei si el cap li tallen

Vinguen les armes als meus, plouen les pedres

El poble salva al poble d’eixos putos merdes

I saludant al nou segle, trenquen el guió i les regles

I una cosa: si veniu amb colps d’Estat

Com a Cuba, com Vietnam: Caureu sense pietat!

Tempestes vénen del sud, sonen corbelles que tallen la boira

I creix una flor al mur, vol ser futur, és present, és memòria

Sents com s’esmolen les metàfores

I el so de la guillotina talla l’aire

Destinats a no tindre dret a guanyar mai

Han eixit rebotaets i el nord comença a tremolar

Guevara viu com Durruti en les paraules d’Emma Goldman

El sud somriu conscient de la seua força

L’Escola de Chicago no guia els nostres passos

Portem idees i energia a cabassos

Exprópiese, colectivízese, que el poble mane

Més enllà de ministres i presidents

Apúrense, que senten la por a la pell

Recordem els nostres morts mentre afilem el ganivet

Cochabamba, Chiapas, Haymarket

Venes obertes, corbelles esmolaes

Tenim els referents, els exemples

La selva, la defenem a maxetaes

Nuestra casa no es el patio de los gringos

Poco a poco expulsamos al imperio

I una idea que deuríem no oblidar:

Contra tota autoritat, barrà de ferro al cap!

Tempestes vénen del sud, sonen corbelles que tallen la boira

I creix una flor al mur, vol ser futur, és present, és memòria

I no seran mai més el nostre magatzem

La dignitat no es compra, el sol no es ven

Que no van a permetre que els exploten

Ni soportar el pes de noves botes

Capitalisme és barbàrie han aprés que

La història s’escriu amb la sang de qui perd, sí

Que ara són seus el café, el blat i el sucre

Que en esta Europa muerte huele a azufre

Tempestes vénen del sud, sonen corbelles que tallen la boira

I creix una flor al mur, vol ser futur, és present, és memòria

And I'm looking forward to hearing from you

Gaining impotence at the rate he is right

Thinking more of desires than deeds, weeping with rage

They want to make walls against the walls

Break down the wall, open the cage, get out of the well

The new man, Hugo lives, waters life with new wisdom

In the face of his people who say "From here they do not pass"

They defend their bread and their homes

And the owner of the company assembles a number

That she cries if they expropriate her wealth

This is no longer how it was, they have found the way

They have smelled the blood, and now the beast is hungry

Laws are no longer laws if they always fail

The king is no longer the king if his head is cut off

Let the weapons come to me, the stones rain

The village saves the village from those fucking shit

And saluting the new century, they break the script and the rules

And one thing: if you come with coups

Like Cuba, like Vietnam: You will fall without mercy!

Storms are coming from the south, baskets are blowing that cut through the fog

And a flower grows on the wall, it wants to be future, it is present, it is memory

You feel like metaphors are being sharpened

And the sound of the guillotine cuts through the air

Destined to never have the right to win

Bounces have come out and the north is starting to shake

Guevara lives like Durruti in the words of Emma Goldman

The south smiles aware of its strength

The Chicago School does not guide our steps

We bring ideas and energy to baskets

Expropriate, collectivize, let the people rule

Beyond ministers and presidents

Hurry, they feel fear in their skin

We remember our dead as we sharpened the knife

Cochabamba, Chiapas, Haymarket

Open veins, sharp baskets

We have the references, the examples

We defend the jungle in maxetaes

Our house is not the courtyard of the gringos

Little by little we expelled the empire

And an idea we should not forget:

Against all authority, iron bar in the head!

Storms are coming from the south, baskets are blowing that cut through the fog

And a flower grows on the wall, it wants to be future, it is present, it is memory

And they will never be our warehouse again

Dignity is not bought, the sun is not sold

That they will not allow them to be exploited

Nor bear the weight of new boots

Capitalism is barbaric they have learned that

The story is written in the blood of the loser, yes

Coffee, wheat and sugar are now his

That in this Europe death smells like sulfur

Storms are coming from the south, baskets are blowing that cut through the fog

And a flower grows on the wall, it wants to be future, it is present, it is memory