Lyrics Song for the Old Man - Spiritual Front

How much sand in your boots?
How much dry bread in teeth?
Everyday is the longest day
Or maybe the day you will never forget
God didn′t save you from the lack of a rich, rich marriage
Nor your dictator saved you from the big glorious war
But maybe you were saved just
Because you never, never believed
No saint has guided your wrinkled hand
But one hundred whores has driven your shining cars
I will sing my worst South American song at your funeral
I will song my worst South American song at your funeral.
My old man
Twenty years in the tropics
One hundred years of regrets
Life is too long to repent
And too short to deify the bitterness
Your ironed shirt, your brushed hair,
Your perfect dye go beyond
Every political conviction
And against every class-fight
I loved your style and your hatred for
Your hatred for mediocrity
God will not give you an honored place
But he will envy your shined shoes
I will sing my worst South American song at your funeral
I will song my worst South American song at your funeral.
My old man