Pajarillo (part. Luis Humberto Navejas)
Maquillaje a granel, usaba a diario
Y vendía su piel a precio caro
De las ocho a las diez en una esquina
Era joven infiel, era rosa y espina
Y se llamaba, no sé, nunca lo supe
Nunca le pregunté, nunca dispuse
De su tiempo y su piel, era un mocoso
Y tan solo le miré de pozo en pozo
Y era un pajarillo de blancas alas
De balcón en balcón, de plaza en plaza
Vendedora de amor, ofrecedora
Para el mejor postor de su tonada
Cinco inviernos pasaron y ahí seguía
La misma hora de ayer, la misma esquina
Era joven y fiel, y aún tenía la rosa de su piel (la rosa de su piel)
Y más grande de espina
Y sonreía al pasar de los mirones
Bajo de aquel farol, noche tras noche
Veinte veces se la llevaron presa
Y cantó su canción tras de las rejas
Y era un pajarillo de blancas alas
De balcón en balcón, de plaza en plaza
Vendedora de amor, ofrecedora
Para el mejor postor de su tonada
Se le arrugó la piel
Y el maquillaje suficiente no fue para taparle
La huella que dejó el sexto invierno
Se le acabó el color y hasta el aliento
Y de las ocho a las diez, solo en la esquina
Se quedó aquel farol y aquella espina
La rosa no sé yo dónde se iría
Se llamaba, no sé, y sonreía
Y era un pajarillo de blancas alas
De balcón en balcón, de plaza en plaza
Vendedora de amor, ofrecedora
Para el mejor postor de su tonada
Little Bird
She used bulk makeup daily
and sold her skin at a high price,
from eight to ten on a corner,
she was young and skin, she was pink and thorn.
Her name was ... I don't know ... I never knew it,
I never asked her, I never had
her time and her skin, she was a brat
and I only looked at her from well to well.
And she was a little bird with white wings,
from balcony to balcony, from square to square,
love seller, offering
to the highest bidder her tune.
Five winters passed, and there she was,
the same time as yesterday, the same corner,
she was young and skin, and still had
the rose of her skin, and the thorn bigger.
And she smiled as the onlookers passed by,
under that lamppost, night after night;
twenty times they took her prisoner
and she sang her song behind bars.
And she was a little bird with white wings,
from balcony to balcony, from square to square,
love seller, offering
to the highest bidder her tune.
Her skin wrinkled, and the makeup
was not enough to cover
the mark left by the sixth winter,
she ran out of color, and even breath.
And from eight to ten, alone on the corner,
that lamppost and that thorn remained;
the rose, I don't know where it would go,
her name was ... I don't know! ... and she smiled
And she was a little bird with white wings,
from balcony to balcony, from square to square,
love seller, offering
to the highest bidder her tune.