Song for the Old Man

How much sand in your boots?

How much dry bread in teeths?

Everyday is longest day

or maybe the day you will never forget

God didn't save you from the luck of a rich marriage

Nor your dictator saved you from the big glorious war

But maybe you were saved just

because you've never never believed

No saint has guided your wrinkle hand

But one hundred whores has driven your shining cars

I will sing my worst southamerican song at your funeral

I will song my worst southamerican song at your funeral..

my old man

Twenty years in the tropics

One hundred years of regrets

Life is to long to repent

and too short to deify the bitterness

Your ironed shirt, your brushed hair,

your perfect dye go beyond

Every political convinction and against every classfight

I loved your style and your hatred

for your hatred for mediocrity

God will not give you a honoured place

but he will envy your shined shoes

I will sing my worst southamerican song at your funeral

I will song my worst southamerican song at your funeral..

my old man