Minutos

Ricardo Arjona's music video for his song, "Minutos" (Minutes).  I love this song (English translation below) and its video.  The musical arrangement brilliantly communicates the insistent passage of time that the lyrics speak about.  White the video's narrative presents us with a visual representation of the passage of time.  Such a brilliant song, and it doesn't hurt the video one little bit that Ricardo Arjona is so easy on the eyes!

(You may have to click on the link to be transferred to YouTube to see the video.  Embedding has been disabled by YouTube, so it may not play from within this blog.)

Video: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=vpz8o_O56Dk

Here is a close translation I did of the lyrics for a friend.  They sound so much better in Spanish than in my English translation.

~~ Minutos ~~

The clock on the wall

Announces 6:23,

The past is thirsty

And the present is an athlete without feet.

It is already 6:43

And the corpse of the minute just passed

Tells me this is how we live here, like it or not,

Nostalgia takes up residence in my head

And its 6:50.

Who told you that I

Was the dream you once dreamed.

Who told you that you

Would turn my future back on itself.

Now its 7:16

And the cadaver of the minute just passed

Told me of your strategy that destroyed you,

Nothing left but to learn to live alone--

If you have the guts.

A house is nothing

but a graveyard of histories

Interred in tombs

That some call memories.

Chorus

Minutes,

Like salt in a wound,

I spend my life

Squandering time.

Minutes,

Are the morgue of time

Cadavers of moments that will never return.

There isn’t a clock that can turn back time.

How it hurts to waste

The moment in which you now are not here.

How it costs to fight

With the things that never come back.

Now its 9:23

And the cadaver of the minute just passed

Mocks my desire to kiss

The photo you left sitting on the bureau.

My loneliness is your revenge.

The ministry of time

Sets up its headquarters on my pillow,

Where, at times, I find you,

Though it doesn’t do any good.

Chorus

Minutes,

Like salt in a wound,

I spend my life

Squandering time,

Minutes

Are the morgue of time,

Cadavers of moments that will never return.

There isn’t a clock that can turn back time.

Minutes that mock me,

Minutes like the fury of the sea,

Minutes, passengers on a train

That is headed to no destination,

Minutes, like a shower of salt,

Minutes, like fire under the skin,

Minutes, strangers that come and go without making a sound,

Minutes that hurt without you,

Minutes that don’t pay a pension

Minutes which, when they die, will form the battalion of yesterday.

Minutes that steal the light

Minutes that corrode my faith,

Minutes, tenants of time while they last,

Minutes that enjoy dying,

Minutes that have no home

Minutes, that crash into me...kamikazes of God.