Crazy dancer without course, a toll too expensive: there are no tears in my eyes, but (there is) rain in my soul Here you got me, deaf and blind, one crying dumb, The pact of silence has infected memory’s wound. Among the ruins of the Tower of Babel I had to be stone, wanting to but not reaching to touch the sky, in the exile of those who have no dreams. Too many autumns, and very little spring. The long winter you kept for me wintered smile. Turning off the candle, burning skin, wax pregnant, giving me wings to later melt them, sunlight that does not heat. Crazy dancer without course, a toll too expensive: there are no tears in my eyes, but (there is) rain in my soul // After arriving at your island, the reward was a maze: beast on the inside, weaver on the outside you cut the thread.
The salmon was drowning, subdued to the evidence. When was this story stopped being a tale? Loneliness, a ruthless friend, is now my closest friend. The curtain goes up, the show begins: laughter carries bitterness. Young txakoli, yes, coastal young txakoli in the barrel, let’s drink among friends // Old verses, we have old and new verses, let’s sing among friends // Work every morning, hard work every morning at the factory, let’s do it among friends! // The stars are dancing, the stars are dancing and singing so many nights… Kherau is among friends (let’s do among friends) For history does not get lost in time, shall we not banish our people to oblivion. Grandma has said it is forgiven, and can not be denied that this is a virtue. Anyway, he came to his funeral without having lived an easy life. They have gone to the lender, but it is also expensive. Finally, it seems that General forgave him and, therefore, has written a letter, but the little piece of paper has failed to reach, lost in it’s way for three or four weeks, and when it arrived, the father is shot. She lost half a day to get there, but was the only option until they release him. That story made us shudder // Her father, whom she visited daily, spent two years in prison in Bilbao. Our grandma from Sestao told us about postwar events and the long time her father remained in prison.
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