Paroles et traduction Liliana Herrero - El Cosechero

El Cosechero

El viejo rio que va,
Cruzando el amanecer,
Como un gran camalotan,
Lleva la balsa en su loco baiben.

Rumbo e la cosecha cosechero yo sere,
Y entre copos blancos mi esperanza cantare,
Con manos curtidas dejare en el algodon mi corazon.

La tierra del Chaco quebrachera y montaras,
Prendera mi sangre con un ronco sapucai,
Y sera en el surco mi sombrero,
Bajo el sol faro de luz.

Algodon que se va, que se va, que se va,
Plata blanda mojada de luna y sudor,
Un ranchito borracho,
De sueños y amor.
Algodon que se va, que se va, que se va,
Plata blanda mojada de luna y sudor,
Un ranchito borracho,
De sueños y amor.

De Corrientes vengo yo,
Barranqueras ya se ve,
Y en la costa un acordeon,
Gimiendo va su lento chamamé.

Rumbo e la cosecha cosechero yo sere,
Y entre copos blancos mi esperanza cantare,
Con manos curtidas dejare en el algodon mi corazon.

La tierra del Chaco quebrachera y montaráz,
Prendera mi sangre con un ronco sapucai,
Y sera en el surco mi sombrero,

Algodon que se va, que se va, que se va,
Plata blanda mojada de luna y sudor,
Un ranchito borracho,
De sueños y amor.

Algodon que se va, que se va, que se va,
Plata blanda mojada de luna y sudor,
Un ranchito borracho,
De sueños y amor.

The Harvester

The old river that goes,
Crossing the dawn,
Like a great camalotan,
Carries the raft in its crazy wobble.

On the way to the harvest, I will be a harvester,
And among the white flakes, my hope will sing,
With tanned hands, I will leave my heart in the cotton.

The land of the Chaco quebracho and montaras,
Will ignite my blood with a hoarse sapucai,
And in the furrow, my hat will be,
Under the sun, a beacon of light.

Cotton that goes away, that goes away, that goes away,
Soft silver wet with moon and sweat,
A drunken little ranch,
Of dreams and love.
Cotton that goes away, that goes away, that goes away,
Soft silver wet with moon and sweat,
A drunken little ranch,
Of dreams and love.

From Corrientes, I come,
Barranqueras can be seen,
And on the coast, an accordion,
Moans its slow chamamé.

On the way to the harvest, I will be a harvester,
And among the white flakes, my hope will sing,
With tanned hands, I will leave my heart in the cotton.

The land of the Chaco quebracho and montaráz,
Will ignite my blood with a hoarse sapucai,
And in the furrow, my hat will be,

Cotton that goes away, that goes away, that goes away,
Soft silver wet with moon and sweat,
A drunken little ranch,
Of dreams and love.

Cotton that goes away, that goes away, that goes away,
Soft silver wet with moon and sweat,
A drunken little ranch,
Of dreams and love.