But now to make success
To sell protest records
Everyone has to complain
I'll take my foot off the road
And I'll get into that too
And let's see now who's gonna put up with it
Because I was the first
And so many januaries have gone by already
But if everybody like it
I'll come back
I'm locked here in my room
Wearing pajamas because there is
A strange visitor in the living room
Then I get and read up on the newspaper
The pilot steals a "mig"
Ice on Mars, says the Viking
But however there isn't a chicken in my yard
I buy quilted furniture
Get retired with health
On welfare
Two problems unite
The truth of universe
The installment that's going to overdue
Get inside with a closeted bottle of liquor
Because my wife can't see it
Turn on the radio
And listen to a dull
That screams in my ears
"Stop the world cuz I wanna get off of it"
Look the books in my bookshelf
That have nothing important to say
They worth only for those who don't know how to read
And the housemaid knocks the door
Explaining me that's she's wrecked*
And doesn't know what food is going to cook for me
They speak about brief clouds
Go for any bullshit
And I have nothing
To choose
Despite this boring and stubborn voice
I'm not here to whine
And I'm not only the singer
That has gone by Elvis Presley
Imitated Mr. Bob Dylan, you know...
I'm tired of watching the sunset
Now I'm only
A latin-american
That has no smell
Nor flavor
And the questions remain
Always the same
Who am I?
Where do I come from?
And where do I go, is it possible?
And everyone explains everything
How the light become lighted
How a plane can fly
By my side a dictionary
Full of words
That I know I'll never use
But now I've come to a conclusion too
Complain a little
Because I'm a latin-american boy
That likewise knows
How to complain
And being a brief cloud
Doesn't take me even to the edge
Of all of this
That I wanna reach
- And that's that