Luck is like a fish
That slipped from his hands
Like the ambition
Of being something that vanished
He worked as a sheep
But he had vocation
Of being much more in life
Than a kafkian loser
Poor man, he can't even
Say his name with skill
His fate is suffering,
His road is of thorns.
He wanders by the harbors
Begging drinks for free.
He bet his life to a beautiful dream
That ruled him and flew away.
Who has pity for that man?
There's no disgrace that amazes him.
The merry go round revolves
But always against him.
He wanders by the harbors
Begging drinks for free.
Deliriously drunk repeats
That luck is like a fish
Like a fish, like a fish
That slipped from his hands
And sunk in the water like lead;
Without knowing how it sunk in the water
And there it lays with other lucks
With many other lucks
That slipped like a fish