Lyrics of Falsos i Absurds - La Gossa Sorda, Ciudad Jara

Falsos i Absurds (original)

Dóna comba bomba
Quan ix als diaris
Notícia i primícia són sinònims rei
Heu aconseguit sense massa esforç
Enganyar a molta gent
Furgaré on no toca i no aniré a l’infern
Dóna comba bomba
Quan ix a la tele
Notícia i escàndol esdevenen dogma, rei
El perquè es confon
I la balança cau perquè no suporta el pes
Furgaré on no toca i no aniré a l’infern
Riures de la realitat
I contar-la fent com fan
Blanc o negre, roig o verd
Que plore la veritat
I ara endevina:
Qui és eixe que amagava
Bragues als calaixos?
Què trista pot ser la glòria!
No els preocupa l’equilibri
Són els amos del trapezi
Són capaços de fer-nos creure
Falsos absurds
Callen els muts
No els preocupa l’equilibri
Són els amos del trapezi
Són capaços de fer-nos creure
Falsos i absurds
Llei de l’embut
Amagueu-se venen dispostos
Les riallades són massa fortes
El ridícul una ganyota
Que ells la fan molt bé
Y sigue siendo necesaria la respuesta colectiva
Entre valles de lamentos y montañas malheridas
No apagará nuestra llama ese viento
Aunque nos falte el aliento y no se cierre la herida
Y hay una gossa que ladra rabiosa y que ruge
Grandiosa una revolución
No nos afecta tu veneno, que no, y tus jaulas
Sirven de poco si nos queda el habla
Que la tele és un circ i el món una estratègia
Sólo es tablero de la guerra
Confonen les paraules i amaguen l’evidència
Hay tanta cabecita enferma
Tiembla, que empuñaremos de nuevo las piedras
Retumbaremos por toda la tierra
Nuevas raíces despiertan
No els preocupa l’equilibri
Són els amos del trapezi
Són capaços de fer-nos creure
Falsos absurds
Callen els muts
No els preocupa l’equilibri
Són els amos del trapezi
Són capaços de fer-nos creure
Falsos i absurds
Llei de l’embut
La història d’una gossa faenera que es va fer una patera
I amb la lluna guerilllera se’n va anar mar endins
Camina cada dia i vigila i fuig de la Guàrdia que et jugues la vida
Camina entre preguntes i pols, esquivant garrotades continuant la partida
Camina que no és qüestió de sort
I corre abans que arribe la mort
Colpeja fort
I respira entre canuts de matinada, diuen que és dimoni.
El paradigma de l’odi
I obri una altra porta a la batalla, obri la veda als seus somnis,
que el temps s’acaba
I abans de que rebente tot
Se sent la veu del nostre tro
I abans de que rebente tot
Farem saó

(translation)

Give comba bomb
When it comes out in the newspapers
News and scoop are synonymous with king
You got it without too much effort
Deceive many people
I will dig where it does not touch and I will not go to hell
Give comba bomb
When he goes on TV
News and scandal become dogma, king
The reason is confusing
And the scales fall because they can't stand the weight
I will dig where it does not touch and I will not go to hell
Laughter from reality
And count it as they do
White or black, red or green
Let him weep for the truth
And now guess what:
Who is the one he was hiding
Panties in drawers?
How sad the glory can be!
They don't care about balance
They are the masters of the trapeze
They are able to make us believe
False nonsense
The silent ones are silent
They don't care about balance
They are the masters of the trapeze
They are able to make us believe
False and absurd
Funnel law
Hide come ready
The laughter is too loud
The ridiculous grimace
That they do it very well
And the collective response is still needed
Between valleys of lamentation and wounded mountains
That wind will not put out our flame
Even if we are short of breath and the wound does not close
And there's a bitch barking angrily and roaring
Great a revolution
We are not affected by your poison, which is not, and your cages
They are of little use if we are left speechless
That TV is a circus and the world a strategy
It's just a war board
They confuse words and hide evidence
There are so many sick little heads
It shakes, that we will wield the stones again
We will reverberate throughout the earth
New roots are awakening
They don't care about balance
They are the masters of the trapeze
They are able to make us believe
False nonsense
The silent ones are silent
They don't care about balance
They are the masters of the trapeze
They are able to make us believe
False and absurd
Funnel law
The story of a bitch who became a patera
And with the guerrilla moon, he went out to sea
Walk every day and watch and run away from the Guard who is risking your life
He walks between questions and dust, dodging beatings continuing the game
Walk that is not a matter of luck
And run before death comes
Hit hard
And he breathes in the morning, they say he's a demon.
The paradigm of hatred
And open another door to battle, open the ban on your dreams,
that time is running out
And before it all bursts
The voice of our thunder is heard
And before it all bursts
We will do so