Текст и перевод песни Ana Tijoux - Crisis de un MC

Crisis de un MC

La crisis de un MC frente a su cuaderno
Cuya pagina blanca abierta espera de su atuendo
Pero, ningún traje es suficientemente bueno
Ella quiere más
Y él no se siente del todo pleno
Cada mañana cuando analiza su rostro
El siente que alimenta por dentro un monstro
Que difícil encarar y encararse
Ser de una forma, y de otra forma mostrarse
Para, una persona simplemente compleja
Que cada vez que sube a escena siente que se despelleja
Lo sabe la noche cuando el aire se espesa
Es algo que le pesa pero él no lo refleja
La crisis de un MC frente a si mismo
Que miraba el mundo con demasiado idealismo
Ya que sus estatuas se rompen con el tiempo
Ni los arbodantes pueden evitar que vaya ya cayendo
Va recogiendo cada pedazo, con el anhelo de revivir de un simple flechazo,
Cada instante aparece frente a él,
Como era vivir con la música a flor de pieles,
La crisis de un mc que se siente solo,
Que por alguna razón necesita estar bajo su toldo,
Aislarse del mundo, convivir en silencio,
Con la contradicción de siempre cantar para el resto.
Crisis de hombres, crisis de mc′s,
Crisis de seres que quieren ser felices,
Crisis de humanos con cicatriz y que rimando descubrieron sus directrices.
Crisis de hombres, crisis de mc's,
Crisis de seres que quieren ser felices,
Crisis de humanos con cicatriz y que rimando descubrieron sus directrices.
La crisis de un mc frente a la palabra,
Que arma, desarma y plasma y que por momentos se traba,
Que a veces no puede porque en él no cree,
Y que a veces quiere decir tanto pero no se atreve,
Así que se queda solo mirando el techo,
Con la angustia pegada en las costillas y en el pecho,
Se siente distante como un punto a parte,
Como una coma perdida de un verso tan vibrante,
Y en un instante, no se siente poeta ni cantante,
Rima para el público y escucha su voz en el parlante,
Es algo disonante, es algo que no logra explicar
Pero para él siempre es una constante.
La crisis de un mc demasiado sensible,
Cuyo desierto infinito en tan invisible,
La audiencia lo escucha indestructible,
Pero el solo rima por que así el se siente libre.
Crisis de hombres, crisis de mc′s,
Crisis de seres que quieren ser felices,
Crisis de humanos con cicatriz y que rimando descubrieron sus directrices.
Crisis de hombres, crisis de mc's,
Crisis de seres que quieren ser felices,
Crisis de humanos con cicatriz y que rimando descubrieron sus directrices.

An MC's Crisis

The crisis of an MC facing her notebook
Whose open white page awaits her attire
But no outfit is good enough
She wants more
And he doesn't feel entirely fulfilled
Every morning when he analyzes his face
He feels he feeds a monster inside
How difficult it is to face and confront oneself
To be one way, and show oneself in another way
For a simply complex person
Who every time she goes on stage feels like she's being skinned
The night knows it when the air thickens
It's something that weighs on him but he doesn't reflect it
The crisis of an MC facing himself
Who looked at the world with too much idealism
Since his statues break with time
Not even the flying buttresses can prevent him from falling now
He picks up each piece, with the longing to revive from a simple arrow shot,
Every moment appears before him,
How it was to live with music on the surface,
The crisis of an mc who feels alone,
Who for some reason needs to be under his awning,
Isolate himself from the world, live in silence,
With the contradiction of always singing for the rest.
Crisis of men, crisis of mc's,
Crisis of beings who want to be happy,
Crisis of humans with scars and who by rhyming discovered their guidelines.
Crisis of men, crisis of mc's,
Crisis of beings who want to be happy,
Crisis of humans with scars and who by rhyming discovered their guidelines.
The crisis of an mc facing the word,
That arms, disarms and shapes and that at times gets stuck,
That sometimes she can't because she doesn't believe in herself,
And that sometimes she wants to say so much but doesn't dare,
So she stays alone looking at the ceiling,
With anguish stuck in her ribs and chest,
She feels distant like a full stop,
Like a lost comma from such a vibrant verse,
And in an instant, she doesn't feel like a poet or a singer,
She rhymes for the audience and listens to her voice in the speaker,
It's something dissonant, it's something she can't explain
But for her it's always a constant.
The crisis of an overly sensitive mc,
Whose infinite desert is so invisible,
The audience hears her indestructible,
But she only rhymes because that's how she feels free.
Crisis of men, crisis of mc's,
Crisis of beings who want to be happy,
Crisis of humans with scars and who by rhyming discovered their guidelines.
Crisis of men, crisis of mc's,
Crisis of beings who want to be happy,
Crisis of humans with scars and who by rhyming discovered their guidelines.