Joan Manuel Serrat — Pueblo Blanco song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Pueblo Blanco" by Joan Manuel Serrat.
Lyrics
Colgado de un barranco
duerme mi pueblo blanco,
bajo un cielo que a fuerza
de no ver nunca el mar,
se olvid de llorar.
Por sus callejas de polvo y piedra
por no pasar, ni pas la guerra,
slo el olvido camina lento
bordeando la caada,
donde no crece una flor
ni trashuma un pastor.
El sacristn ha visto
hacerse viejo al cura,
el cura ha visto al cabo
y el cabo al sacristn,
y mi pueblo despus
vi morir a los tres,
y me pregunto: porqu nacer gente
si nacer o morir es indiferente.
De la siega a la siembra
se vive en la taberna,
las comadres murmuran
su hitoria en el umbral,
de sus casas de cal.
Y las muchachas hacen bolillos
buscando, ocultas tras los visillos,
a ese hombre joven
que noche a noche forjaron en su mente,
fuerte para ser su seor
y tierno para el amor.
Ellas suean con l
y l con irse muy lejos,
de su pueblo y los viejos
suean morirse en paz,
y morir por morir
quiren morirse al sol,
la boca abierta al calor, como lagartos
medio ocultos tras un sombrero de esparto.
Escapad gente tierna
que esta tierra est enferma,
y no esperes maana
lo que no te di ayer,
que no hay nada que hacer.
Toma tu mula, tu hembra y tu arreo,
sigue el camino del pueblo hebreo
y busca otra luna,
tal vez maana sonra la fortuna
Y si te toca llorar,
es mejor frente al mar.
Si yo pudiera unirme
a un vuelo de palomas,
y atrevasando lomas
dejar mi pueblo atrs,
jro por lo que fu que me ira de aqu,
pero los muertos estn en cautiverio
y no nos dejan salir del cementerio.
Lyrics translation
Hanging from a ravine
sleep my white people,
under a sky that forcibly
never to see the sea,
forget crying.
For its alleys of dust and stone
for not passing, not the war,
slo forgetfulness walks slow
skirting the caada,
where a flower does not grow
he doesn't even trashan a pastor.
The sacristn has seen
getting old to the priest,
the priest has seen the corporal
and Corporal Al sacristn,
and my people after
I saw the three of you die.,
and I wonder why people are born
whether to be born or die is indifferent.
From mowing to sowing
you live in the tavern,
weasels murmur
your hitoria on the threshold,
from their lime houses.
And the girls make buns
searching, hidden behind the visillos,
to that young man
that night by night they forged in his mind,
strong to be your Lord
and tender for love.
They dream of l
and L with going very far,
of his people and the old
they dream of dying in peace,
and die for die
Chiren die in the sun,
mouth open to the heat, like lizards
half hidden behind a esparto hat.
Escape sweet people
that this earth is sick,
and don't wait tomorrow
what I didn't give you yesterday,
that there's nothing to do.
Take your Mule, your female and your harness,
follow the path of the Hebrew people
and look for another moon,
maybe tomorrow's fortune smiles
And if it's your turn to cry,
it's better by the sea.
If I could join
to a flight of pigeons,
and daring lomas
leave my village atrs,
jro so it was that I will leave here,
but the dead are in captivity
and they won't let us out of the cemetery.