I’ll tell you what, in the Pinturas negras
You’ll be living, you’ll love your cell,
You’ll spray your bread with water,
You’ll read a lot and tame your wooden horse.
Once in a while, I’ll come and clip your nails
And wash your hair.
A day will come and like the shepherd on the rock,
You’ll say “I must be off now”.
You’ll walk in ice across the Fossa Carolina,
Until you reach the city.
They’ll ask you this and that and you’ll respond
“I want to be a rider like my father”.
But you will drown in ink. I’ll tell you what,
It’s everybody for himself and God against the whole.
