Текст и перевод песни Cecilia - Un Ramito de Violetas (Dialogos Con la Sociedad) [Remastered]

Un Ramito de Violetas (Dialogos Con la Sociedad) [Remastered]

Era feliz-liz-liz, era feliz en su matrimonio
Aunque su marido-rido era el mismísimo demonio
Tenía el hombre un poco de mal genio
Y ella se quejaba de que nunca fue tierno

Quién la escribía cartas, dime, quién era
Quién la mandaba cartas por primavera
Por qué cada siete de septiembre, como siempre, sin tarjeta
La mandaba un pequeño ramo de violetas

Era feliz en su matrimonio
Aunque su marido era el mismo demonio
Tenía el hombre un poco de mal genio
Y ella se quejaba de que nunca fue tierno

Desde hace ya más de tres años
Recibe cartas de un extraño
Cartas llenas de poseía
Que le han devuelto la alegría

Quién la escribía versos, dime, quién era
Quién le mandaba flores por primavera
Quién cada nueve de noviembre, como siempre, sin tarjeta
Le mandaba un ramito de violetas

A veces sueña y se imagina
Cómo será aquel que tanto la estima
Sería un hombre más bien de pelo cano
Sonrisa abierta y ternura en las manos

No sabe quién sufre en silencio
Quién puede ser su amor secreto
Y vive así, de día en día
Con la ilusión de ser querida

Quién la escribía versos, dime, quién era
Quién le mandaba flores por primavera
Quién cada nueve de noviembre, como siempre, sin tarjeta
Le mandaba un ramito de violetas

Y, cada tarde, al volver su esposo
Cansado del trabajo, la mira de reojo
No dice nada porque lo sabe todo
Sabe que es feliz, así, de cualquier modo

Porque él es quien la escribe versos
Él, su amante, su amor secreto
Y ella que no sabe nada
Mira a su marido y luego calla

Quién la escribía versos, dime, quién era
Quién le mandaba flores por primavera
Quién cada nueve de noviembre, como siempre, sin tarjeta
Le mandaba un ramito de violetas

Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra, rara-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra, rara-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra, rara-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra

A Bunch of Violets (Conversations With Society) [Remastered]

I was happy-py-py, I was happy in my marriage
Even though my husband-band was the devil himself
The man had a bit of a temper
And she complained that he was never tender

Who wrote you letters, tell me, who was it?
Who sent you letters in the spring?
Why did he send you a small bunch of violets every September 7th, as always, without a card?
A small bunch of violets

I was happy in my marriage
Even though my husband was the devil himself
The man had a bit of a temper
And she complained that he was never tender

For more than three years now
You've been receiving letters from a stranger
Letters full of poetry
That have brought you joy again

Who wrote you poetry, tell me, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in the spring?
Who sent you a small bouquet of violets every November 9th, as always, without a card?
A small bouquet of violets

Sometimes you dream and imagine
What the one who loves you so much would be like
He would be a man with graying hair
An open smile and gentle hands

You don't know who is suffering in silence
Who your secret love could be
And you live like this, day by day
With the illusion of being loved

Who wrote you poetry, tell me, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in the spring?
Who sent you a small bouquet of violets every November 9th, as always, without a card?
A small bouquet of violets

And every evening, when your husband returns
Tired from work, he looks at you sideways
He doesn't say anything because he knows everything
He knows that you're happy, like this, in any way

Because he's the one who writes you verses
He, your lover, your secret love
And you who know nothing
You look at your husband and then you are silent

Who wrote you poetry, tell me, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in the spring?
Who sent you a small bouquet of violets every November 9th, as always, without a card?
A small bouquet of violets

Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra, rara-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra, rara-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra, rara-rayra
Ra-rayra
Ra-rayra