Текст и перевод песни El Kanka - Triste Trofeo

Triste Trofeo

Divino pero malvado, eterno pero finito
Hermoso pero maldito, el Dios que el hombre ha creado
La deidad que compra el dado, compra el azar y la vida
Para que en toda partida, la banca siempre nos gane

Y no hay Cristo que profane su autoridad desmedida

Eres puro atrezzo, triste trofeo
Yo me vuelvo ateo, dinero ya no te rezo
Eres puro atrezzo, triste trofeo
Yo me vuelvo ateo, dinero ya no te rezo

Por ti doblan las campanas, por ti cantan las cigarras
Por ti callan las guitarras y se pelean las hermanas
Por ti todas las mañanas, suenan los despertadores
Y sueñan los soñadores y te echaron de tu casa

Y la justicia fracasa, y lloran los ruiseñores

Eres puro atrezzo, triste trofeo
Yo me vuelvo ateo, dinero ya no te rezo
Eres puro atrezzo, triste trofeo
Yo me vuelvo ateo, dinero ya no te rezo

Al rico le da diamantes, al necio le da respeto
Le da autoridad al paleto, poder a los ignorantes
Lo mismo ahora que antes, asusta que reconforta
Pero la masa sin torta no vale nada y no cuenta

No puedes poner en venta lo que de verdad importa

Eres puro atrezzo, triste trofeo
Yo me vuelvo ateo, dinero ya no te rezo
Eres puro atrezzo, triste trofeo
Yo me vuelvo ateo, dinero ya no te rezo

Trophy of Sadness

Divine yet wicked, Eternal yet finite
Beautiful yet cursed, The God that man created
The deity who buys the dice, Buys chance and life
So that in every game, The house always wins

And there is no Christ who profanes his unmistakable authority

You are just a prop, A trophy of sadness
I become an atheist, I no longer pray to you, money
You are just a prop, A trophy of sadness
I become an atheist, I no longer pray to you, money

For you, the bells toll, For you, the cicadas sing
For you, the guitars are silent, and the sisters quarrel
For you, every morning, the alarms sound
And the dreamers dream, and you were thrown out of your house

And justice fails, and the nightingales weep

You are just a prop, A trophy of sadness
I become an atheist, I no longer pray to you, money
You are just a prop, A trophy of sadness
I become an atheist, I no longer pray to you, money

To the rich, you give diamonds, To the fool, you give respect
You give authority to the oaf, Power to the ignorant
The same now as before, You frighten and comfort
But the masses without cake are worthless and don't matter

You cannot put on sale what truly matters

You are just a prop, A trophy of sadness
I become an atheist, I no longer pray to you, money
You are just a prop, A trophy of sadness
I become an atheist, I no longer pray to you, money