By Julio Puyo Méndez
In a bar you lose
the last night of your youth
the city streetlights illuminate
the last path of the present
tomorrow nothing will be the same
tomorrow the future
will be upon us
crushing us
with lacerating ropes
drowning
in front of satirizing presences
Expensive is the price
without weapons in the face of adversity
low is the ground
under which we lie inert
facing the shadows of reality
We insult the executed
under the arm of destiny
Well, I lower the price of my soul
they lie amputated
all my false hopes
all agonizing meaning
I have sealed with my blood
the gates of death
before being born
only with the fears of others
we leave behind the molting of the snake
we left behind
a fragile, piercing lament
called present
Me and my shadow are enough
to defeat your army
today we will dress
the last mask we have left
that of a twisted and tempting lover
called death
melancholic and dazzling
threatening, attractive.