Cien Dias [English translation]

Like a new moon,

like the Madrid metro,

black as a decayed tooth

or a student September.

Like the certainty that you do not dream about me,

black was that bar

where the damned hide

from daybreak,

from the vendors of newspapers

from the needles of the sun,

from love of fellow man.

I found her there.

Like a suicide leaning

at the edge of the precipice,

piling curses

on the aluminium counter.

In her eyes trembled

the smoke of a thousand cigarettes

she had smoked with a guy

who had kissed her,

who had left her one morning

asleep among the dunes of her bed,

who left with another early one morning.

That’s how I found her

Someone told me she had spent a hundred days

locked up in that bar,

asking for a light or some clue

which would help her find

the light in the labyrinth,

the map where is hidden,

the sea where promises burn,

where you can sink.

One hundred days hiding from gray

March sky and traffic jams,

swallowing fog through the nose,

dreaming of you in the toilets,

vowing never get out alive,

sealing off all the exits,

searching in a sea of gin

for a beach on which to run aground.

She kissed a cup full

of ashes, looked at me,

gave me the smoke of her hands,

I smoked. In exchange

I her told the city

was waiting for her,

that outside it rained honeysuckle,

that summer was coming,

that what would become of us

if she decided not to come with me,

come out to defy

the dawn and its murderers.

That’s how I spoke to her.

She smiled tired and lost,

she opened her blue mouth.

She kissed the cup again,

she left and all her light

was consumed by the service entrance

where soulless women push you to the edge.

That made one hundred and one days

locked in the blackness of this bar,

I went out into the street and forgot to pay.

And off I went.

And off I went

• Artist:Ismael Serrano
• Album:La traicion de Wendy