El hombre del piano
Esta es la historia
de un sabado
que no importa que mes
y de un hombre sentado al piano
que no importa que viejo cafe
Toma el vaso y le tiemblan las manos
apestando entre humo y sudor
y se agarra su tabla de naufrago
volviendo a su eterna cancion
toca otra vez viejo perdedor
haces que me sienta bien
es tan triste la noche que tu cancion
sabe a derrota y miel
cada ves que el espejo
de la pared le devuelve mas joven la piel
se le encienden los ojos
y su niñez viene a tocar junto a el
pero siempre hay borrachos con babas
que le recuerdan quien fue
el mas joven maestro al piano
vencido por una mujer
ella siempre temia echar raices
que pudieran sus alas cortar
y en la jaula metida
la vida se le iba
y quizo sus fuerzas probar
no lamenta que de malos pasos
aunque nunca desea su mal
pero a ratos con furia golpea a el piano
y algunos le han visto llorar
toca otra vez viejo perdedor
haces que me sienta bien
es tan triste la noche
que tu cancion
sabe a derrota y a miel
el microfono huele a cerveza
y el calor se podria cortar
solitarios obscuros buscando pareja
apurandose a un sabado mas
y un hombre aferrado al piano
la emocion empapada en alcohol
y una voz que le dice pareces cansado
y aun no a salido ni el sol
toca otra vez viejo perdedor
haces que me sienta bien
es tan triste la noche
que tu cancion
sabe a derrota y a miel.
The Piano Man
This is the story
of a Saturday
no matter the month
and of a man sitting at the piano
no matter the old cafe
He takes the glass and his hands tremble
reeking of smoke and sweat
and he clings to his life raft
returning to his eternal song
touches again old loser
you make me feel good
the night is so sad that your song
tastes like defeat and honey
every time the mirror
on the wall reflects younger skin
his eyes light up
and his childhood comes to play alongside him
but there are always drooling drunks
who remind him of who he was
the youngest piano master
defeated by a woman
she always feared putting down roots
that could cut her wings
and in the cage she was in
life was slipping away
and she wanted to test her strength
he doesn't regret taking wrong steps
although he never wishes her harm
but sometimes with fury he hits the piano
and some have seen him cry
touches again old loser
you make me feel good
the night is so sad
that your song
tastes like defeat and honey
the microphone smells like beer
and the heat could be cut
dark loners looking for a partner
hurrying to another Saturday
and a man clinging to the piano
emotion soaked in alcohol
and a voice that says you look tired
and the sun hasn't even risen yet
touches again old loser
you make me feel good
the night is so sad
that your song
tastes like defeat and honey.