Oh, what a pannier, what a pannier
That you walk sighing for the bedrooms,
That one hears under one's breath in verses of verse,
That he walks combining crazy questions for us,
That he rides in the heads, ride in your mouths,
That you walk going up for fed-up holes,
That they are talking loud at the warehouse,
And you shout on the market, what thing is that one?
It is nature, pannier, than pannier,
That you do not have certainty and you never give you,
That you do not have concept, and you will never have,
That you do not have size.

Oh, what a pannier, what a pannier
That he lives in the ideas of those lovers,
That the more delirious poets sing,
That the gotten drunk prophets swear,
To be in the pilgrimage of the mutilated
To be in the fantasy of the sorry fellows,
To be in the day-to-day routine of the meretrixes,
In all the bandits and helpless,
In all your senses, pannier what a pannier,
That you do not have decency and you will never have,
That you do not have censure and you will never have,
And he lacks sense.

Oh, what a pannier, what a pannier
That you will be able to avoid no ad,
That prisoners cannot defy either,
That all the roads will have to cross over,
Where all signs are going to consecrate,
And all the young children to carry out an investigation,
And all destinies are going to find,
And the same Eternal Father that never was finds,
They will again bless the man
Turning off your final flame to hell,
Because it does not come to the point roll again
For without good judgement.



( Ohhh, what a pannier )
They are phantom, they are phantom,
They are phantom, they are phantom
I hear the door playing, alas, the door playing
( Ohhh, what a pannier )
Lives it the bandit, the helpless one,
Meretrixes, sorry fellows,
The reverend and the fireman,
The president, the shoemaker,
And teachers and the carpenter,
The citizen and the foreigner,
Also the judge and the strolling player,
The nurse, the wheelman,
The santero, the Marxist,
The cellarman and the masochist
Oh, what a pannier!!!