That certain Tarrés
who walks backwards,
write backwards
and never has enough.
He puts his right sock
on his left foot
to be seen to be
different from me.
When he comes I'm not here.
When I arrive he's gone
and if he returns I don't know
if he'll stay or if he'll go.
I wouldn't care if
it wasn't that
he is nothing without me
and I'm nobody without him.
That certain Tarrés,
that doesn't fit in my skin
and takes out my animal
partying with him.
It's enough for him that the Sun
gives out fire and light
and that God gives us health
enough for drinking.
And at dawn with
four drinks too many
he hates me
and he rejects me wherever he goes.
I wouldn't care if
I didn't have to pay for
the debts that Tarrés
forgot about in the night.
But when he's not around
liquor makes me choke,
my friends leave,
and my love doesn't love me.
If Tarrés is not around
it rains in the heart,
my woman doesn't dance
and the song is silenced.
Without that certain Tarrés,
who walks backwards
write backwards
and never has sufficient.
That certain Tarrés,
who walks backwards
write backwards
and never has enough.