Paroles et traduction La Raíz - Suya Mi Guerra - Live Vistalegre

Suya Mi Guerra - Live Vistalegre

Eran años de ilusion y banderas de morado los versos de los sin voz
Gritos de Lorca y Machado obuses que roban el sueño en esas
Noches silbaron la tierra se parte
En dos y el mundo mira a otro lado.
Guernika llora, sangra el corazon, la libertad es pecado.
Brigada Lincoln pide munición,
Pero no habla castellano Y GRITAN NO PASARAN,
CON ACENTO AMERICANO, Y GRITAN NO PASARAN, CON ACENTO AMERICANO
Hay un poema de Albertí, conciencias despierta,
Primera linea del frente, carmela no vuelvas,
Que el Ebro huele a derrota, pero no cuelgues tus botas,
Mañana vendre a buscarte suenen las trompetas la pasion del
Brigadistacruzando el mapa, para siempre quedara la foto de Capa,
Abandonado al exilio en aquella cuneta,
Mañana vendre a buscarte, suenen las trompetas.
A los que saltan fronteras y empujan con fuerza a los que empujan con
Fuerza para demolerlas,
A los que saltan fronteras y empujan con
Fuerzas, gracias a aquel que hizo suya mi guerra.
Pero caia la noche y solos tras el muro,
Vieron acercarse al monstruo, se esfumó el futuro,
Cuentan que los que perdieron vieron llorar a
La luna, los hijos de la derrota os debemos una.
La pasion del brigadista cruzando el mapa,
Para siempre quedara la foto de capa,
Abandonado al exilio en aquella cuneta,
Mañana vendre a buscarte, suenen las trompetas.
A los que saltan fronteras y empujan con fuerza,
A los que empujan con fuerza para demolerlas,
A los que saltan fronteras y empujan con
Fuerza, gracias a aquel que hizo suya mi guerra

Suya Mi Guerra - Live Vistalegre

They were years of illusion and purple flags the verses of the voiceless
Cries from Lorca and Machado shells that steal the sleep in those
Nights the earth whistled is split
In two and the world looks the other way.
Guernica cries, the heart bleeds, freedom is a sin.
Brigade Lincoln asks for ammunition,
But he doesn't speak Spanish and they shout they will not pass,
WITH AN AMERICAN ACCENT, AND THEY SHOUT THEY WILL NOT PASS, WITH AN AMERICAN ACCENT
There's a poem by Albertí, consciences awaken,
First line of the front, Carmela do not come back,
That the Ebro smells of defeat, but don't hang up your boots,
Tomorrow I will come to look for you sound the trumpets the passion of the
Brigade crossing the map, Capa's photo will remain forever,
Abandoned to exile in that ditch,
Tomorrow I will come to look for you, sound the trumpets.
To those who jump borders and push with force those who push with
Force to demolish them,
To those who jump borders and push with
Forces, thanks to the one who made my war his own.
But night fell and alone behind the wall,
They saw the monster approaching, the future vanished,
They say that those who lost saw the
The moon cried, the children of defeat we owe you one.
The passion of the brigadista crossing the map,
Capa's photo will remain forever,
Abandoned to exile in that ditch,
Tomorrow I will come to find you, sound the trumpets.
To those who jump borders and push with force,
To those who push with force to demolish them,
To those who jump borders and push with
Force, thanks to the one who made my war his own