Текст и перевод песни Ismael Serrano - Podría Ser

Podría Ser

Contando monedas para comprar cigarros
Regreso a mi casa sumando derrotas.
Vuelvo sin excusas, sin paz ni trabajo
Y a nuestro futuro le arrancan las horas.
Y en casa me espera
Mi razón de vida,
El calor de hogar.
Llevo la vergüenza,
Las manos vacías,
La precariedad.

Ella sonreirá, "saldremos adelante".
A pesar del tiempo sigue siendo bella.
La miro y recuerdo. No siempre los planes
Salen como sueñas, eternas promesas.
Estoy cansado
De tropezar siempre,
Del "ya le llamaremos".
Quizá mañana
Cambie nuestra suerte
Y acabe este invierno.

Podría ser jardinero en Marte,
Médico de flores, poeta ambulante,
Deshollinador volando en tejados,
Probador de espejos o un pirata honrado.
Quisiera ser hombre al fin al cabo.

Podría ser quizá delineante
De columpios rojos, un gran nigromante,
Un cantor de nanas, quizá buhonero
Y vender palomas, pócimas y ungüentos.
Pensándolo bien, me conformo con menos.

Enchufo la radio, no hablan de nosotros.
La luz de la aurora se vierte en la acera.
Ella me da un beso, yo me hundo en sus ojos.
"Suerte" me susurra y cruzo la puerta.
Quizá fuera encuentre
Por fin la respuesta
O mi exculpación.
Llueve mientras sueño,
Quizá cuando vuelva
Haya salido el sol.

Podría ser cartero de Neruda,
Pescador de estrellas navegando en la luna,
Piloto de cometas, explorador de abismos,
Quizá recolector de gotas de rocío.
Quisiera ser un hombre, es poco lo que pido.

Podría ser quizá delineante
De columpios rojos, un gran nigromante,
Un cantor de nanas, quizá buhonero
Y vender palomas, pócimas y ungüentos.
Pensándolo bien, me conformo con menos.

Podría ser jardinero en Marte,
Médico de flores, poeta ambulante
Deshollinador volando en tejados,
Probador de espejos o un pirata honrado.
Quisiera ser hombre al fin al cabo.

Could Be

Counting coins to buy some cigarettes
I return home, accumulating defeats.
I come back with no excuses, no peace, no work
And our future is having its hours robbed.
And at home I am met by
My reason for living,
The warmth of home.
I bear shame,
Empty hands,
Precarious.

She will smile, "we'll get ahead."
Despite everything, she's still beautiful.
I look at her and remember. Plans don't always
Unfold like you dream, eternal promises.
I'm tired
Of always stumbling,
Of the "we'll call you."
Perhaps tomorrow
Our fate will change
And this winter will end.

I could be a gardener on Mars,
A doctor for flowers, an itinerant poet,
A chimney sweep flying on roofs,
A mirror tester or an honest pirate.
It's what I'd like to be, a man at last.

I could be perhaps a draftsman
Of red swings, a great magician,
A lullaby singer, perhaps a peddler
And sell doves, potions, and ointments.
Thinking it over, I would settle for less.

I turn on the radio, they are not talking about us.
The light of dawn is pouring onto the sidewalk.
She gives me a kiss, I am lost in her eyes.
"Good luck" she whispers to me and I cross the threshold.
Perhaps out there I will find
At last the answer
Or my exculpation.
It's raining as I dream,
Perhaps when I return
The sun will have come out.

I could be Neruda's mailman,
A fisherman of stars floating on the moon,
A pilot of kites, an explorer of abysses,
Perhaps a collector of dewdrops.
I would like to be a man, it's so little I ask.

I could be perhaps a draftsman
Of red swings, a great magician,
A lullaby singer, perhaps a peddler
And sell doves, potions, and ointments.
Thinking it over, I would settle for less.

I could be a gardener on Mars,
A doctor for flowers, an itinerant poet
A chimney sweep flying on roofs,
A mirror tester or an honest pirate.
It's what I'd like to be, a man at last.