Paroles et traduction Joan Manuel Serrat - Romance de Curro el Palmo (with Alejandro Sanz)

Romance de Curro el Palmo (with Alejandro Sanz)

La vida y la muerte
Bordada en la boca
Tenía Merceditas
La del guardarropa.
La del guardarropa
Del tablao de "El Lacio",
Un gitano falso,
Ex-bufón de palacio.
Alcahuete noble,
Que -al oir los tiros-,
Recogió sus capas
Y se pegó el piro (1).
Se acabó el jaleo,
Y el racionamiento
Le llenó el bolsillo,
Y montó este invento,
En donde "El Palmo"
Lloró cantando...
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí no entiendo el despertar.
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí mi cama es ancha.
Ay, mi amor
Que me desvela la verdad...
Entre tú y yo, la soledad
Y un manojillo de escarcha.
Mil veces le pide
- Y mil veces que "nones" -
De compartir sueños
Cama y macarrones.
Le dice, burlona:
" Carita gitana,
¿Cómo hacer buen vino
De una cepa enana?"
Y Curro se muerde
Los labios y calla,
Pues no hizo la mili
Por no dar la talla.
Y quien calla, otorga,
Como dice el dicho...
Y Curro se muere
Por ese mal bicho.
Ay! Quien fuese abrigo,
Para andar contigo.
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí no entiendo el despertar.
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí mi cama es ancha.
Ay, mi amor
Que me desvela la verdad...
Entre tú y yo, la soledad
Y un manojillo de escarcha.
Buscando el olvido
Se dio a la bebida,
Al mus, las quinielas...
Y en horas perdidas
Se leyó enterito
A Don Marcial Lafuente
Por no ir tras su paso
Como un penitente.
Y una noche, mientras
Palmeaba "farrucas",
Se escapó Mercedes
Con un "cura-pupas"
De clínica propia
Y Rolls de contrabando.
Y, entre palma y palma,
Curro fue palmando
Entre cantares
Por soleares.
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí no entiendo el despertar.
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí mi cama es ancha.
Ay, mi amor
Que me desvela la verdad...
Entre tú y yo, la soledad
Y un manojillo de escarcha.
Quizás fue la pena
O la falta de hierro.
El caso es que un día
Nos tocó ir de entierro.
Pésames y flores,
Y dos lagrimitas
Que soltó la Patro
Al cerrar la cajita...
A mano derecha,
Según se va al cielo,
Veréis un tablao
Que montó Frascuelo,
Donde, por las noches,
Pa las buenas almas,
El Currito "El Palmo"
Sigue dando palmas.
Canta sus males
Por "celestiales":
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí no entiendo el despertar.
Ay, mi amor,
Sin tí mi cama es ancha.
Ay, mi amor
Que me desvela la verdad...
Entre tú y yo, la soledad
Y un manojillo de escarcha.

Romance of Curro "El Palmo" (with Alejandro Sanz)

Life and death
Embroidered on her lips
Merceditas had,
The cloakroom girl.
The cloakroom girl
Of "El Lacio" tablao,
A fake gypsy,
Ex-palace jester.
A noble pimp,
Who -upon hearing the shots-,
Gathered his capes
And took off (1).
The revelry ended,
And the rationing
Filled his pocket,
And he set up this invention,
Where "El Palmo"
Cried while singing...
Oh, my love,
Without you, I don't understand waking up.
Oh, my love,
Without you, my bed is vast.
Oh, my love,
The truth keeps me awake...
Between you and me, loneliness
And a handful of frost.
A thousand times he asks her
- And a thousand times she says "no" -
To share dreams,
Bed and macaroni.
She tells him, mockingly:
"Little gypsy face,
How to make good wine
From a dwarf vine?"
And Curro bites
His lips and remains silent,
For he didn't do the military service
Because he didn't meet the height requirement.
And he who is silent, consents,
As the saying goes...
And Curro is dying
For that bad bug.
Oh! To be a coat,
To walk with you.
Oh, my love,
Without you, I don't understand waking up.
Oh, my love,
Without you, my bed is vast.
Oh, my love,
The truth keeps me awake...
Between you and me, loneliness
And a handful of frost.
Seeking oblivion
He turned to drink,
To mus, the pools...
And in his spare time
He read the entire
Don Marcial Lafuente
To avoid following her steps
Like a penitent.
And one night, while
He was clapping for "farrucas",
Mercedes ran away
With a "quack"
With his own clinic
And a smuggled Rolls Royce.
And, between claps and claps,
Curro was fading away
Among songs
By soleares.
Oh, my love,
Without you, I don't understand waking up.
Oh, my love,
Without you, my bed is vast.
Oh, my love,
The truth keeps me awake...
Between you and me, loneliness
And a handful of frost.
Perhaps it was the sorrow
Or the lack of iron.
The fact is that one day
We had to go to a funeral.
Condolences and flowers,
And two little tears
That Patro shed
When closing the little box...
On the right hand side,
As you go to heaven,
You will see a tablao
That Frascuelo set up,
Where, at night,
For the good souls,
Currito "El Palmo"
Keeps clapping.
He sings his woes
For "celestials":
Oh, my love,
Without you, I don't understand waking up.
Oh, my love,
Without you, my bed is vast.
Oh, my love,
The truth keeps me awake...
Between you and me, loneliness
And a handful of frost.