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In the streets of Madrid

Madrid...
There's only one secret that leads me here:
that silence has died in the streets of Madrid.
Ceesepe's soul beats deep inside you.
Lose me. Death will be sweet here, in Madrid.
 
When thugs have access to a power,
And when the dandies show their impertinence
When its women have refused to grow up.
When madness has defeated old age.
 
Madrid...
Take me in your car to some vice out there.
Find me on the airwaves someone to speak to me.
Tell Pepe Risi that now he can smile:
he killed the silence in the streets of Madrid.
 

The Hummock On Red-Hot Poles

In rain I rode a lonely ride,
On the harvest nights' desolate heath,
The wind screamed on the wild widths,
And took me out to foreign land.
 
Hey! Hey!
A light in the distance promised shelter,
And beds of sweet hay,
Hey! Hey!
But odd was the sight that met my eyes
Of joy and delight.
 
A hummock on red-hot poles,
A hall made of shining gold,
The nation, who let themselves split,
Dances and drinks in the house of soil.
 
A woman from the mountain brought a chalice,
With turse1mead, thick as a trolls blood,
Dumb as stone, I grabbed hold of the bowl,
And finished it in one drag.
 
Hey! Hey!
As peg in a brook I was filled,
By joy and by drunkenness,
Hey! Hey!
While the sound of the flute lured me,
In the hummock on that harvest night.
 
A hummock on red-hot poles,
A hall made of shining gold,
The nation, who let themselves split,
Dance and drink in the house of soil.
 
Wild maidens dressed in green robes,
With beautiful eyes and willing genitals,
Men drank with desire out of the mead,
The event didn't stop before dawn
 
I resumed the journey from yesterday,
But known paths could hardly be recognised,
I was only recognised by the graybeard of the farm,
'But there you are, that is our boy?'2'
 
A hummock on red-hot poles,
A hall made of shining gold,
The nation, who let themselves split,
Dance and drink in the house of soil.
 

• 1. A turse is a supernatural being (a giant of sorts) from the Norse mythology
• 2. This is dialect and my best guess is that the graybeard says: 'Men der du er, det er vores dreng?

Don't dance Rock and Roll at El Corte Ingles

In such country we ended.
Great shops, colors and the rest.
They steal your money with your identity.
You're the business of modernity.
Rockers on the streets, good promotion.
You can be money, said a poofter
Welcome, cousins of rock'n'roll!
 
Tight jeans, well combed studs.
Black plastic and uniformed.
No more problems, all controlled,
and summer discounts at the end of month.
A new fashion had to be born.
It's spring in El Corte Inglés.
Bend over, it needs to fit good.
 
Don't dance rock and roll at El Corte Ingles.
Laugh at their ye-ye entrepreneurs.
Don't dance Rock and roll at El Corte Ingles.
Don't be a pie figure.
Do it with your girl, do it well,
don't dance Rock and roll at El Corte Ingles
or your feet will end up hurting.
 
The boys in the street need to resist
to the memory of Eddie, Holly or Gene.
After a long time I'm still here
sure and convinced of reaching to the end.
So pay no mind at all the fuss,
we laugh a lot at all those fashions.
They won't be able to end with rock and roll.
 

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Autumn Ember

In dark nights and greyish treetops,
There is... there is
An outstretched Autumn
With a tendency to1 blueish shades
 
You feel the abundance of the time of falling leaves
Come, let's light candles and accept the ember ourselves
You're freezing where you are
Come, let's go
 
You feel the abundance of the time of falling leaves
Come, let's light candles and accept the ember ourselves
You're freezing where you are
Come, let's go
 
Autumn ember
The warmth makes your body soft
Send the tones off
And let the ember follow it
And your body
Relaxes
In the love
 
You feel the abundance of the time of falling leaves
Come, let's light candles and accept the ember ourselves
You're freezing where you are
Come, let's go
 

• 1. or 'a need for'

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