El Abuelo
Caminando por la calle
Me encontré a la vecina
Me dijo: cada día estás más flaco
Deja ya un rato el cigarro.
Abordé mi autobús para
Seguir mi camino al sur
Y entre risa y dolor
Recordé al abuelo, mi viejo.
Es la triste historia de mi abuelo
Pensando en su silla de palo
Es la triste historia de mi viejo
Cansado en su silla de palo.
Oh mi viejo ¿donde estas?
Oh mi viejo ¿donde estas?
Tiene más de ochenta
Con su pelo tan blanco, tan lacio
Una historia de años que ha vivido
Mi viejo en sus manos.
A construido su vida de fracasos
Y aciertos el abuelo
Quiero ser como el viejo
Tan tranquilo y callado, tan sabio.
Es la triste historia de mi abuelo
Pensando en su silla de palo
Es la triste historia de mi viejo
Cansado en su silla de palo.
Oh mi viejo ¿donde estas?
Oh mi viejo ¿donde estas?
The Grandfather
Walking down the street
I ran into the neighbor
She said: every day you're getting skinnier
Stop smoking for a while.
I boarded my bus to
Continue my journey down south
And between laughter and pain
I remembered the grandfather, my old man.
It's the sad story of my grandfather
Thinking in his wooden chair
It's the sad story of my old man
Tired in his wooden chair.
Oh my old man, where are you?
Oh my old man, where are you?
He's over eighty
With his hair so white, so straight
A story of years he has lived
My old man in his hands.
He has built his life of failures
And successes the grandfather
I want to be like the old man
So calm and quiet, so wise.
It's the sad story of my grandfather
Thinking in his wooden chair
It's the sad story of my old man
Tired in his wooden chair.
Oh my old man, where are you?
Oh my old man, where are you?