Mare Lola

Mother Lola

Mare Lola

(That's the Mama Lola story...)(That's the Mama Lola story...)
When the street sleeps and the sun has not yet risen, Mother Lola already walks up and down, with the last yawn in her throat, making breakfast for her husband, getting the children out of bed so they can go to school. The day begins for her and the sun has not yet risen. Many numbers must be done, memory must be kept to make it to the end of the month. For Mother Lola, no one writes the story, it's nothing much, almost nothing.Quan el carrer dorm i el sol no ha alçat encara el vol, mare Lola ja camina amunt i avall, amb el darrer badall a la gola, fent l'esmorzar per al marit, traient els fills del llit perquè vagin a escola. Comença el dia per a ella i el sol no ha alçat encara el vol. Cal fer molts números, cal tenir memòria per arribar a fi de mes. Per a mare Lola ningú escriu la història, és poca cosa, quasi res.
She watches the trees on the promenade while the laundry fills up. Mother Lola... Oh, if for a moment she could, neither do nor think anything, and go off alone. But her dream always gets lost up in the attic, leaving her a pile of clothes, while people walk on the promenade and the laundry fills up. Many numbers must be done, memory must be kept to make it to the end of the month. For Mother Lola, no one writes the story, it's nothing much, almost nothing. When the street sleeps and the sun has hidden its flight, Mother Lola finally dries her hands, the children are already asleep. Mother Lola undresses at the foot of the bed, she knows her husband lies and waits for the woman. If God wants, tomorrow everything will be better, everything is fine for her. But... everything is fine for her, but...Guaita els arbres del passeig mentre s'omple el safareig. Mare Lola... Ai, si per un moment pogués, ni fer ni pensar res, i anar-se'n sola. Però el seu somni sempre es perd amunt pel celobert, deixant-li un munt de roba, mentre la gent camina pel passeig i es va omplint el safareig. Cal fer molts números, cal tenir memòria per arribar a fi de mes. Per a mare Lola ningú escriu la història, és poca cosa, quasi res. Quan el carrer dorm i el sol ja ha amagat el seu vol, mare Lola s'eixuga per fi les mans, ja dormen els infants. Mare Lola es despulla als peus del llit, ella sap que el marit jeu i espera la dona. Si Déu vol demà tot anirà millor, tot li està bé. Però... tot li està bé, però...