Son las nueve [English translation]

It's nine in the morning, I thought it was three.

Still I couldn’t eat,

nor stopping shaking.

It wasn’t a gambling, it was fire.

And there will pay the bill.

But those marathons

spitting songs non stop

were a good fishing,

and the grief maybe go away.

And someday we can repeating

the danger of the dust loaded gun,

which in the hand

of a craftsman from songs

may be worth.

If poison doesn’t poisons you,

it may be worth.

It's nine in the morning, I thought it was three.

What’s the difference?

Slumber will come, better or same.

To rest tiredness of living.

Yesterday, I decided I finished, yes.

At home, I was a lion.

Beyond timetables

I broke some records

and several heart rates.

But the songs were my reward.

Real grief songs

but only songs.

Halved songs

but only songs.

Lost love songs

but only songs.

Songs confess everything

but songs for me and all the others.

But if all the others end up

shedding a tear or singing,

this will be a price more valuable than money.

I have got that.

And also sadness.

• Artist:Andrés Calamaro
• Album:Honestidad Brutal