Paroles et traduction Horacio Ferrer, Maria Graña & Juanjo Dominguez - Chiquilín de Bachín

Chiquilín de Bachín

Por las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
ChiquilínPor las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
ChiquilínPor las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
ChiquilínPor las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín

Little Boy of Bachín

At night, dirty face,
Of a little angel in blue jeans.
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
On the grill,
He eats moon
And soot bread.
Every day in his sadness
That doesn't want to dawn,
He's awakened by a sixth of January
With the star in reverse.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids
Aprons to learn,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Round and round he looks,
But doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the trash,
With a loaf of bread and a noodle,
He makes himself a kite
To leave, and he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy, at night, dirty face,
Of a little angel in blue jeans.
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
On the grill,
He eats moon
And soot bread.
Every day in his sadness
That doesn't want to dawn,
He's awakened by a sixth of January
With the star in reverse.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids
Aprons to learn,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Round and round he looks,
But doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the trash,
With a loaf of bread and a noodle,
He makes himself a kite
To leave, and he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy, at night, dirty face,
Of a little angel in blue jeans.
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
On the grill,
He eats moon
And soot bread.
Every day in his sadness
That doesn't want to dawn,
He's awakened by a sixth of January
With the star in reverse.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids
Aprons to learn,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Round and round he looks,
But doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the trash,
With a loaf of bread and a noodle,
He makes himself a kite
To leave, and he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy, at night, dirty face,
Of a little angel in blue jeans.
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
On the grill,
He eats moon
And soot bread.
Every day in his sadness
That doesn't want to dawn,
He's awakened by a sixth of January
With the star in reverse.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids
Aprons to learn,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Round and round he looks,
But doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the trash,
With a loaf of bread and a noodle,
He makes himself a kite
To leave, and he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account
Of the hunger that I didn't understand.
Little boy