Mahareta
Y es la historia común
De un viejo loco
Que casi nunca
Sabía por donde andaba,
Se levantaba por las noches
Y se acostaba por las mañanas
Se dedicaba a coger flores
Y a jugar con las musarañas.
Y vagando por ahi
No paraba de cantar,
Con una flor detrás de la oreja
Repetía sin cesar...
Pero que mira como es
Con la camisa remendá
Pero que mira como es
Los pantalones medio "caios",
Pero que mira como es
Y no paraba de bailar
Pero que mira como es
Con su botella llena de vino.
Y ese viejo loco
Con su cigarro encendío
Pasaba las horas solo,
Y no se metía en líos,
Otro buchito a su botella
Para olvidar quién ha sido
Los amores del pasado
Y todo lo que ha sufrido.
Y vagando por ahi
No paraba de cantar,
Con una flor detrás de la oreja
Repetía sin cesar...
Pero que mira como es
Con la camisa remendá
Pero que mira como es
Los pantalones medio "caios",
Pero que mira como es
Y no paraba de bailar
Pero que mira como es
Con su botella llena de vino.
Pero que mira como es
Y su tesoro es la libertad
Pero que mira como es
Que importa si hace calor o frío
Pero que mira como es
Como un chiquillo quiere jugar
Pero que mira como es
Al escondite de su vacío
Pero que mira...
Mahareta
And it's the common story
Of an old crazy man
Who almost never
Knew where he was going,
He would get up at night
And go to bed in the mornings
He dedicated himself to picking flowers
And playing with the shrews.
And wandering around
He never stopped singing,
With a flower behind his ear
He repeated incessantly...
But look at how he is
With his patched shirt
But look at how he is
His pants half worn out,
But look at how he is
And he never stopped dancing
But look at how he is
With his bottle full of wine.
And that crazy old man
With his lit cigarette
Spent the hours alone,
And stayed out of trouble,
Another sip from his bottle
To forget who he has been
The loves of the past
And all that he has suffered.
And wandering around
He never stopped singing,
With a flower behind his ear
He repeated incessantly...
But look at how he is
With his patched shirt
But look at how he is
His pants half worn out,
But look at how he is
And he never stopped dancing
But look at how he is
With his bottle full of wine.
But look at how he is
And his treasure is freedom
But look at how he is
What does it matter if it's hot or cold
But look at how he is
Like a child wanting to play
But look at how he is
In the hiding place of his emptiness
But look...