El tipo de la radio [English translation]

I turned on the radio like in a

pagan, misterious and football-like ritual,

I crossed my fingers again,

for the colors of my darling.

My team went in, today they went to kill,

the world explodes and I die,

through the crystal radio I hear them going in,

may my heart blow up.

I'm there,

I know I'm not, but I'm there,

if the radio guy tells it

I fly up a kite in every goal,

I know I'm not, but I'm there.

Behind the parapets of the loneliness,

or the cold bars of a cell,

over the silence of the hospital,

the gray yell of the slum.

It crosses the walls of reason,

it stops the time and the bitterness,

like a far light is that voice

that makes my country dream.

I'm there,

I know I'm not, but I'm there,

if the radio guy tells it

I fly up a kite in every goal,

I know I'm not, but I'm there.

The messenger who broke his voice,

crying in thousands of impossible achievments,

painted dribbles in my heart

with his masterful omen.

From bis words I learned to wait

some unexpected miracle,

the old radio will scream again

the furious goal of the end.

I'm there,

I know I'm not, but I'm there,

if the radio guy tells it

I fly up a kite in every goal,

I know I'm not, but I'm there.

I'm there,

I know I'm not, but I'm there,

if the radio guy tells it

I fly up a kite in every goal,

I know I'm not, but I'm there.