They're only routines, crossed lives
In this world in ruins, full of gestures, of glances
Neighbor women, neighbor men, the Sunday pint
And Josefina blowing her pension at bingo
The cop's son is a lost cause
Fifty kilos, yellowish skin
And he's engaged to the shopkeeper's daughter
And he takes her home on his bike, the gram at fifty
Hungry looks, the junkie from the eighties
The parking hustler, the idiot runner, the shop clerk
Recently fired, an ungrateful boss, she had no contract
No unions at the shoe store
The coupon seller, the crazy cat lady
Eyes like plates, reality suffocates
And the neighborhood hipster poses as an ally and hits his girlfriend
Stories fluctuate, and so, without noticing, life passes
The neighborhood and its memory
And the workshop kid is gay and hasn't said it at home
With his grease-stained hands he hides his flair
'I don't want a f*ggot,' his father yells, foaming at the mouth
'It's your mother's fault, that slob'
Then he goes whoring and brags about it at the bar amid guffaws
It's The Handmaid's Tale, all we have left is protest
Wasted lives, too many
Because social reality isn't like you see it on La Sexta
And that girl gets bullied because she's fat
And another worker has died toiling at the site
We don't want leftovers, nor tiny flashes
We want everything that's beautiful
The neighborhood, its people, the daily miseries
Sometimes you love it and other times you hate it
We're going to set the betting shop on fire
We're not going to accept you
Don't come here to do tourism
Get lost with your f*cking paternalism
The neighborhood where you're born marks your future
Being cannon fodder or living without fear, without troubles
Some jumping walls, others open doors
But if you fail they'll say you don't try
That's how they deny the conflict, buddy
But your pocket and your reality are different
Even if you no longer see junkies on the corners
They're in betting shops, the new heroin
And the neighbor woman with sunglasses
Hiding her shame and her terror
The same one you heard with screams from the balcony
And you always avoided it by turning up the TV
But in the end another life goes out
And among the neighbors now you all lower your gaze
But before the media, nobody suspected
'They seemed happy,' he says, 'they always said hi'
That we're all so tolerant, open, with full goodwill
But we enroll the kid in the charter school
So that he doesn't share a seat with the immigrants
Damn education we receive
That prioritizes the individual over the collective
That prepares us to be a wretched part
Of their businesses, of their assembly line
That's the neighborhood where I was born
Precarity, yes, and youth unemployment
But we're not a circus to entertain you
Get out of here, Hermano Mayor and Callejeros
Because amid contradictions and ruin
We also have class pride and empathy
And someday we'll take what's ours
No peace between classes nor war between peoples
The neighborhood, its people, the daily miseries
Sometimes you love it and other times you hate it
We're going to set the betting shop on fire
We're not going to accept you
Don't come here to do tourism
Get lost with your f*cking paternalism