Vull - ZOO

Vull que les canes que pentine parlen

Quantes històries guarda este cabet

Guarda secrets, crida el xiquet

Quan sent que, per fi, puc trobar-me

Que el veu prop de mi, vull trobar-te

Vull donar-te el que vols

Ansietat, frustracions, desterrar-les

Vull que m’entres endins, sense por

Sense por, sense atendre a raons

Fins que agafen les notes colors

Sense ordre, insurrectes

La síntesi perfecta, cançons

Cançons i cançons, amb lletres reals

Honestes, sinceres, egòlatres, rares

Donant via lliure a l' instint animal

Mirant com ens brillen les cares

I que brolle la ràbia d’un crit ancestral

I que fem de la por una dansa tribal

I que perguen i paguen amb sang esta fam

Que no tot en la vida és faena, que morir és no viure lluitant

Vull deixar d' alienar-me amb la merda, omplir-me de ràbia i desig

Vull sentir-me d’on sóc… d’una terra, que m’importa prou més que un país

Vull guanyar-los ja, ara i per sempre… i que mama no plore, no s’ho mereix

El concepte és molt fàcil: si ha de plorar algú que ploren ells!

Imprimir caràcter i ritme, pesa més el cul que la moral

L' orgull que pica, que ofega, moltes vergonyes per amagar

Vull que arribe algo, el que siga, però sé que si no em moc mal

Senc que igual això mai arriba, i hi ha algo m’espitja a abandonar

Vull gaudir de tot, sense mida, sense resistències ni frens

Sé que eixa baralla és la vida, sempre que tingues un plat calent

Vull la veritat, la certesa, el sentit, que la gent es crega que pot!!!

Perdre la por, matar la culpa, amic, no demanem res, ho volem tot!!!

I que brolle la ràbia d’un crit ancestral

I que fem de la por una dansa tribal

I que perguen i paguen amb sang esta fam

Que no tot en la vida és faena, que morir és no viure lluitant

Sí, quiero que suene sincero, cortarle los hilos al titiritero ya!

Quiero al poema sin amos, que crezca en las manos de algún alfarero

Sí, caigan las frutas del cesto, muera el traidor que dispara a los nuestros

Suene en la calle el clamor, sienta el tirano angustia y dolor

I que brolle la ràbia d’un crit ancestral

I que fem de la por una dansa tribal

I que perguen i paguen amb sang esta fam

Que no tot en la vida és faena, que morir és no viure lluitant

Qui serà el valent que li ho conte als nostres fills?

Quants podran mirar-se algun dia a l’espill?

Qui pot assumir-ho que no és tan senzill, però…

Hem de seguir, hem de seguir…

I want the hair combs to talk

How many stories does this head have?

Keep secrets, call the boy

When I feel like I can finally find myself

Seeing him near me, I want to find you

I want to give you what you want

Anxiety, frustrations, banish them

I want you to come in without fear

Without fear, without regard to reasons

Until they take on the colored notes

No order, insurgents

The perfect synthesis, songs

Songs and songs, with real lyrics

Honest, sincere, egotistical, weird

Giving free rein to animal instinct

Watching our faces shine

And let the rage of an ancestral cry erupt

And let’s make fear a tribal dance

And let them starve and pay with blood this famine

That not everything in life is work, that dying is not living fighting

I want to stop being alienated from shit, filled with rage and desire

I want to feel where I am from a land that matters more to me than a country

I want to win them now, now and forever… and mom doesn't cry, she doesn't deserve it

The concept is very simple: if someone has to cry they cry!

Impressing character and rhythm weighs more on the ass than on morale

The stinging, drowning pride, many shames to hide

I want something to come, whatever it is, but I know that if I don't move badly

I feel like this never happens, and there's something wrong with me

I want to enjoy everything, without size, without resistance or brakes

I know that fight is life, as long as you have a hot plate

I want the truth, the certainty, the meaning, that people think they can !!!

Losing fear, killing guilt, friend, we don't ask for anything, we want everything !!!

And let the rage of an ancestral cry erupt

And let’s make fear a tribal dance

And let them starve and pay with blood this famine

That not everything in life is work, that dying is not living fighting

Yeah Al that sounds pretty crap to me, Looks like BT aint for me either.

I want the masterless poem to grow in the hands of a potter

Yes, let the fruits of the basket fall, let the traitor die who shoots ours

The cry is heard in the street, the tyrant feels anguish and pain

And let the rage of an ancestral cry erupt

And let’s make fear a tribal dance

And let them starve and pay with blood this famine

That not everything in life is work, that dying is not living fighting

Who will be the brave one to tell our children?

How many will ever look in the mirror?

Who can assume that this is not so simple, but

We have to keep going, we have to keep going…