Marea — Con la camisa rota (Directo 2008) song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Con la camisa rota (Directo 2008)" by Marea.
Lyrics
Vengo a robarte la siesta con la manilla del desván
Con toses de carretero vengo vendiendo cal
Y es que traigo colmo en los cajones
De hollín de mis pulmones, de agujas de tejer
Chispas del cruzar de cables de ojitos miserables
Que no quisieron ver
Vengo de trenzar esparto para la reja de un penal
Despeinando a la tristeza, que está recién pintá
Y es que guardo su lamento quedo
Goteando entre los dedos en cántaros de cinc
Y en zurrones de miseria, bombillas de la feria
Perfume de alperchín
Y me voy con la camisa rota
Porque me he hecho una bandera
Con guirnaldas de guijarros
Plumas de palomas negras
Que el verso que le di al aire
Muere de cualquier manera
Y en el cielo de tu boca
Se lo comerá la niebla
Vengo a herrar a las orugas para después condecorar
A las abejas que no venden la miel de su panal
Y es que traigo nubes de rabieta que inunden las macetas
De ganas de encallar
Lagrimitas traicioneras, tiñendo las bañeras…
…cuchillas de afeitar
Y me voy con la camisa rota
Porque me he hecho una bandera
Con guirnaldas de guijarros
Plumas de palomas negras
Que el verso que le di al aire
Muere de cualquier manera
Y en el cielo de tu boca
Se lo comerá la niebla
Lyrics translation
I'm here to steal your nap with the loft handle.
With road cough I come selling lime
And it's that I have a lot of stuff in my drawers.
Of soot from my lungs, of knitting needles
Sparks of the wire crossing of miserable little eyes
That they didn't want to see
I come from braiding esparto for the gate of a penal
Disheveled sadness, which is freshly painted
And it is that I keep his regret I remain
Dripping between your fingers in zinc jars
And in wretches of misery, light bulbs of the fair
Perfume of alperchin
And I'm leaving with my shirt broken
Because I've made myself a flag
With garlands of pebbles
Black pigeon feathers
That the verse I gave to the air
Dies anyway
And in the sky of your mouth
The fog will eat it
I come to iron the caterpillars and then decorate
To bees who don't sell honey from their honeycomb
And it is that I bring clouds of rage that flood the pots
Of wanting to run aground
Treacherous little tears, staining the bathtubs…
... razor blades
And I'm leaving with my shirt broken
Because I've made myself a flag
With garlands of pebbles
Black pigeon feathers
That the verse I gave to the air
Dies anyway
And in the sky of your mouth
The fog will eat it