Hey, Amigo. Yes, Gringo.
You and I we travel in tunnels.
They say this stuff makes you invincible.
So both of us in shadow –
the brain controlling sums alien.
These sums measure the smallest tremble.
Amigo, I notice your hand upon something personal.
And after we are done, I forgot to mention
I’ll be waiting
Escobar, Jesus is coming.
So show respect.
Assist me, assist The Magnificent.
I am invincible on ground unlimited.
And I sit in tower with cup between industry and dust
organiser of the money shot.
In each face
where once were words now is humming.
He is? Tell me he is.
He is: “es nuestro amigo”
We told you before, Escobar, Jesus is coming.
Gringo, this wall you said….
Amigo, it’s likely to account for many dead
but who cares / what the heck.
We have this tunnel of ours:
to enter together and lie there flat wanting,
the sweat of coke, the sweat of ambrosia.
It could be quite a party and I shall lack little:
Escobar, I hope you vote for me.
And you one day for me
when America is Mexican.