De Cudillero
Por esa cuesta abajo que hay saliendo de la casa,
sintió el frío en los huesos de la limpia madrugada,
rondaba en su cabeza en la primera luz del alba,
qué haría si mañana no saliera al mar su barca.
Peleando veinte años para al fin llegar a nada,
el faro y las mareas reconocen sus pisadas,
apenas le nacieron como un juego se embarcaba,
criándose entre redes de la mar nada extrañaba.
Marinero arría la vela
que está la noche tranquila y serena.
Presiente a quien le debe la moneda en que le pagan,
nada esperaba de ellos porque no regalan nada,
hay gente que negocia con torpeza tan extraña,
como si no supieran o escondieran otras cartas.
Y al cabo nada debo si no hay pesca prendo fuego,
me salgo al mar y quemo hasta el último aparejo,
que carguen a su espalda y su conciencia un hombre menos,
hoy siete de febrero, sello y firmo en Cudillero.
From Cudillero
Down that hill coming out of the house,
he felt the cold in his bones of the clean dawn,
it lingered in his mind in the first light of dawn,
what would he do if his boat didn't go out to sea tomorrow.
Fighting for twenty years to finally get to nothing,
the lighthouse and the tides recognize his footsteps,
he barely grew up, he embarked as a game,
growing up among the sea nets, he found nothing strange.
Sailor lower the sail
for the night is calm and serene.
He senses who owes him the coin they pay him with,
he expected nothing from them because they give nothing away,
there are people who negotiate with such strange clumsiness,
as if they didn't know or were hiding other cards.
And in the end I owe nothing if there's no catch I set fire,
I go out to sea and burn up to the last rigging,
let them carry on their backs and their conscience one man less,
today, seventh of February, I seal and sign in Cudillero.