Tomorrow of sun, low by the elevator,
street with trees, girl happens with fear.
You are not scared, no, me pelé by my work,
the lenses are for the sun and the people whom disgust gives me.
You do not go to the school so that San Martín hopes to you,
you are all the single day and mirás my country one.
Tomatos rotted by the streets of the Supply,
rotted by the sun that bankruptcy the streets of the Supply.
Seated man there, with its bottle of Resero,
the sad and empty bars already, by the closing of the Supply.
Jose Luis and his fiancèe kisses itself that way on the Supply,
I happen and they salute to me under the shade of the Supply.
Shutdown Carlos Gardel, is the station of the Supply,
Sergio works in the bar in the station of the Supply,
he thinks always more and more, he will be by the boredom.
Subte Line B and I move away more of the sky,
there I listen to the train, I listen to the train there,
I am in the subsoil, I am in the subsoil.