Y siempre igual

And always the same; with its dim lights.
A cigarette and coffee to wait.
Noise of dice, muffled words.
And a hope rolling in the pool.
It's always the same, all the dreams sitting.
Thirst to arrive, thirst for what could not be....
And always the same, the phone busy.
Express... march a cortado
oh, waiter... How much is it?

Wait, he's leaned on the table,
with triumphs that are slow in coming.
Failure, who paints a head
with gray hair, so it doesn't dream anymore.
Whistled, with the pretension of a kiss...
memories with a woman's name.
Poet, I also made a verse.
The verse I will never tell you!

I go back to the café, I am no longer who I was;
maybe the years, tiredness, or what do I know.
I go back to the café and at its wooden table
my illusion does not have to undertake new journeys.
And it is always the same; all the dreams seated.
A new author who goes in search of the laurel,
and it's always the same; the phone is busy.
Express... I'll make a cortado!
And Mozo... How much is it?