Despierta [English translation]

Unintentionally, April will arrive but dark and without carnations

and you will look at the days like someone watching snow

fall on the city, insane and always hungry

and the crisis fills the gutters with sleepy people.

And you--hibernating, absent, exhausted and beat,

defeated by fear and the light of the markets,

tired, perhaps of being lost. Lost.

When work spits you out like a cherry pit

you'll roll downhill. Nothing will remain to protect

the virgin of the dragon. When the alarms sound

the tide will have risen, cornering you on the bed.

You will wake up then, unarmed and captive.

And like one who returns to the home in which he grew up

everything will seem smaller, darker:

the horizon, the flame and the future.

And then tell me what you will do.

Wake up,

you'll see, they are waiting for you,

grazing at the front door a rope of winged horses

to cross the sky behind the star of the defeated

and ask questions that demand he still be alive.

Wake up,

You have to paint new constellations

so that sailors lost at night

find the way that brings them closer to tomorrow

That in which Prometheus mocks God and brings fire.

Fate did not give birth to the misery in which you sleep,

it was born of the will of a thousand men and women,

nothing is written forever.

Wake up.

Winter will come, scratching your back,

you will watch the news like someone reading a telegram

which brings condolences and flowers. While you chew silences they will steal the memory of necromancers and usurers.

Those who now dance celebrating the bonfire

in which your future burns, wounded by mortgages,

by sweet gentleness, narcotic blindness,

wounded and bleeding, the future is still waiting.

Wake up,

you'll see, they are waiting for you,

grazing at the front door a rope of winged horses

to cross the sky behind the star of the defeated

and ask questions that demand he still be alive.

Wake up,

You have to paint new constellations

so that sailors lost at night

find the way that brings them closer to tomorrow

That in which Prometheus mocks God and brings fire.

Fate did not give birth to the misery in which you sleep,

it was born of the will of a thousand men and women,

nothing is written forever.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

• Artist:Ismael Serrano
• Album:Todo empieza y todo acaba en ti