It´s my seaside town

The small boats

Are made from the pine forest

And even if i don´t make money

I´ll always go out to sea

The muses of the bay

Walk along the beach barefoot

And shelter from the east wind

Among the reeds and wild scrubs.

Give the order to shoot dead

In this street people can dream

Give the order to shoot dead

It never rains like they dream

I live with this hope.

Ay cowardly man, cowardly man

Ay cowardly man, cowardly man

I´ll stuff you headfirst

Into the drinking trough.

On summer nights

Lights are seen over the strait

Yhey´re the small boats out fishing

And kisses come out from their nets.
 

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