Liran' Roll — El Pianista (feat. José Cruz Real de 14) song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "El Pianista (feat. José Cruz Real de 14)" by Liran' Roll.
Lyrics
Esta es la historia de un sábado
Que importa cual mes
Y de un hombre sentado al piano
Que importa cual viejo café
Toma el vaso y le tiemblan las manos
Apestando entre humo y sudor
Y se agarra su tabla de náufrago
Volviendo a su eterna canción
Toca otra vez viejo perdedor haces que me sienta bien
Es tan triste la noche que tu canción sabe a derrota y a miel
Cada vez el espejo en la pared le devuelve más joven la piel
Se le encienden los ojos y su niñez viene a tocar junto a él:
Pero siempre hay borrachos con barbas
Que le recuerdan quién fue
El más joven maestro al piano vencido por una mujer
Ella nunca quiso echar raíces
Que pudieran sus alas cortar
Y en la jaula metida la vida se le iba
Y quiso sus fuerzas probar
No lo deja que dé malos pasos
Aunque nunca desea su mal
Pero a ratos con furia golpea el piano
Y hay algunos que le han visto llorar
Toca otra vez viejo perdedor haces que me sienta bien
Es tan triste la noche que tu canción
Sabe a derrota y miel
El micrófono huele a cerveza y el calor se podía tocar
Solitarios oscuros buscando pareja
Apurados un sábado más
Hay un hombre aferrado al piano
La emoción empapada en alcohol
Y una voz que le dice pareces cansado
Y aún no ha salido ni el sol
Toca otra vez viejo perdedor
Haces que me sienta bien
Es tan triste la noche que tu canción
Sabe a derrota y alcohol
Lyrics translation
This is the story of a Saturday
What does it matter which month
And a man sitting at the piano
Who cares what old coffee
He takes the glass and his hands shake
Smelling between smoke and sweat
And he grabs his shipwreck board
Returning to his eternal song
Play again, you old loser. you make me feel good.
It's so sad at night that your song tastes like defeat and honey
Every time the mirror on the Wall returns you younger skin
His eyes light up and his childhood comes to play next to him:
But there are always bearded drunks
That remind you who it was
The youngest piano teacher beaten by a woman
She never wanted to take root
That they could cut their wings
And in the cage, his life was gone
And he wanted his strength to try
Don't let him take a bad step
Though he never desires his evil
But at times with fury hits the piano
And there are some who have seen him cry
Play again, you old loser. you make me feel good.
It's so sad at night that your song
It tastes like defeat and honey
The microphone smells like beer and the heat could be touched
Dark loners looking for couple
Hurry one more Saturday
There's a man clinging to the piano
Alcohol-soaked emotion
And a voice that says you look tired
And the sun hasn't even come up yet
Play again, you old loser.
You make me feel good
It's so sad at night that your song
It tastes like defeat and alcohol