Текст и перевод песни Cecilia - Un Ramito de Violetas (Live)

Un Ramito de Violetas (Live)

Ahora que tengo la oportunidad de cantar aquí en directo
Me gustaría ofrecerles un ramito de violetas

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

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

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

A veces sueña y se imagina
Cómo será aquél 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 la mandaba flores por primavera
Quién cada nueve de noviembre
Como siempre sin tarjeta
La 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 quién 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 la mandaba flores por primavera
Quién cada nueve de noviembre
Como siempre sin tarjeta
La mandaba un ramito de violetas

Larara, larara, larararara
Larara, larara, larararara
Larara, larara, larararara
Larara, larara

A Bunch of Violets (Live)

Now that I have the chance to sing live here
I would like to offer you a bunch of violets

She was happy in her marriage
Although her husband was the devil himself
The man had a bit of a bad temper
And she complained that he was never gentle

For more than three years now
She has been receiving letters from a stranger
Letters full of poetry
That have brought her joy back

Who wrote her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who every November 9th
As always without a card
Sent her a bunch of violets

Sometimes she dreams and imagines
What the one who loves her so much will be like
He would be a man with gray hair
An open smile and tenderness in his hands

She does not know who suffers in silence
Who could be her secret love
And so she lives from day to day
With the illusion of being loved

Who wrote her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who every November 9th
As always without a card
Sent her a bunch of violets

And every afternoon, when her husband comes home
Tired from work, he looks at her out of the corner of his eye
He says nothing, because he knows everything
He knows that she is happy in any way

Because he is the one who writes her verses
He, her lover, her secret love
And she who knows nothing
Looks at her husband and then keeps quiet

Who wrote her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who every November 9th
As always without a card
Sent her a bunch of violets

Larara, larara, larararara
Larara, larara, larararara
Larara, larara, larararara
Larara, larara