Cecilia — Don Roque song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Don Roque" by Cecilia.
Lyrics
Tae la campana vistiendo sus faldones
Murmurando oraciones, flota pasillo abajo
De la alcoba al sagrario su camino diario
Misa de 7 rosario de 9
Don Roque, piedra de toque
De aquella iglesia espaola
Vieja gloria del cejo aejo
Que ha escrito pginas de historia
En sus 90 aos de cura provinciano
Libr contra Satn noventa mil batallas
Y salv del infierno a un puado de almas
Con sus rezos y penitencias largas
Don Roque, piedra de toque
De aquella iglesia espaola
Vieja gloria del cejo aejo
Que ha escrito pginas de historia
Fue buen catador del vino de su tierra
Jugador del mus y el domin en la taberna
Y al calor del casino charla con sus amigos
Sobre la guerra y los tiempos perdidos
Don Roque, piedra de toque
De aquella iglesia espaola
Vieja gloria del cejo aejo
Que ha escrito pginas de historia
Se le apagan las luces de bendecir cruces
Y le sacan con los pies p’adelante
A este cura caballero, a este santo arrepentido
Que bajo el manto de la virgen se ha dormido
Don Roque, piedra de toque
De aquella iglesia espaola
Vieja gloria del cejo aejo
Que ha escrito pginas de historia
Lyrics translation
Tae the bell wearing her skirts
Murmuring prayers, floats down the aisle
From the alcove to the Tabernacle your daily journey
Mass of 7 Rosary of 9
Don Roque, touchstone
Of that Spanish church
Old Glory of the aejo eyebrow
Who has written pages of history
In his 90 years of provincial healing
Libr vs Satn ninety thousand battles
And I save a lot of Souls From Hell
With his long prayers and penances
Don Roque, touchstone
Of that Spanish church
Old Glory of the aejo eyebrow
Who has written pages of history
He was a good taster of the wine of his land
Mus and domin player in the tavern
And in the heat of the casino chat with your friends
About war and lost Times
Don Roque, touchstone
Of that Spanish church
Old Glory of the aejo eyebrow
Who has written pages of history
The lights of blessing crosses go out
And they pull him out with their feet forward
To this knight priest, to this repentant Saint
That under the mantle of the Virgin has fallen asleep
Don Roque, touchstone
Of that Spanish church
Old Glory of the aejo eyebrow
Who has written pages of history