Natalia Oreiro — Un Ramito De Violetas song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Un Ramito De Violetas" by Natalia Oreiro.
Lyrics
Era feliz en su matrimonio
Aunque su marido era el mismo demonio
Tenía el hombre un poco de mal genio
Y ella se quejaba de que nunca fue tierno
Desde hace ya más de tres años
Recibe cartas de un extraño
Cartas llenas de poesía
Que le han devuelto la alegría
Quien la escribía versos dime quien era
Quien la mandaba flores por primavera
Quien cada nueve de noviembre
Como siempre sin tarjeta
La mandaba un ramito de violetas
A veces sueña y se imagina
Cómo será aquel que tanto la estima
Sería un hombre más fiel de pelo cano
Sonrisa abierta y ternura en las manos
No sabe quien sufre en silencio
Quien puede ser su amor secreto
Y vive así de día en día
Con la ilusión de ser querida
Quien la escribía versos dime era
Quien la mandaba flores por primavera
Quien cada nueve de noviembre
Como siempre sin tarjeta
La mandaba un ramito de violetas
Y cada tarde al volver su esposo
Cansado del trabajo la mira de reojo
No dice nada porque lo sabe todo
Sabe que es feliz, así de cualquier modo
Porque él es quién le escribe versos
Él, su amante, su amor secreto
Y ella que no sabe nada
Mira a su marido y luego calla
Quien la escribía versos dime quien era
Quien la mandaba flores por primavera
Quien cada nueve de noviembre
Como siempre sin tarjeta
La mandaba un ramito de violetas
Lyrics translation
She was happy in her marriage
Although her husband was the same demon
Had the man a bit of a bad temper
And she complained that he was never tender
For more than three years now
Receive letters from a stranger
Letters full of poetry
Who have brought back the joy
Who wrote it verses tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers for spring
Who every November nine
As always without a card
A twig of violets sent her
Sometimes he dreams and imagines
How will he be so esteemed
I'd be a more faithful man with straight hair
Open smile and tenderness in the hands
He doesn't know who suffers in silence
Who can be your secret love
And he lives like this from day to day
With the illusion of being loved
Who wrote it verses tell me was
Who sent her flowers for spring
Who every November nine
As always without a card
A twig of violets sent her
And every evening when her husband returns
Tired of work the look of reojo
He doesn't say anything because he knows everything
He knows he's happy, so anyway
For he is the one who writes verses to him
He, his lover, his secret love
And she doesn't know anything
Look at her husband and then shut up
Who wrote it verses tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers for spring
Who every November nine
As always without a card
A twig of violets sent her