Текст и перевод песни Joan Manuel Serrat - Manuel (Version 2)

Manuel (Version 2)

Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España,
Su casa era de barro, de barro y caña.
Las tierras del señor humedecían
Su sudor y su llanto, día tras día.
Mendigo a jornal fijo como él no hubo
Entre olivos y trigos, por un mendrugo.
Su casa era de barro, de barro y caña,
Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España.
Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España,
Su mundo era otro mundo, tras la montaña.
Del amo eran las tierras, camino abajo
Las moras y las flores de los ribazos.
La mula y los arreos, el pan y el vino,
Los árboles, las piedras y los caminos.
Su mundo era otro mundo, tras la montaña,
Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España.
Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España,
Ella guardaba un hijo en sus entrañas.
Nunca nada fue suyo, nada tuvieron,
Por eso lloró tanto cuando murieron.
Él con sus propias manos cavó una fosa
Sepultando sus sueños junto a su esposa.
Ella guardaba un hijo en sus entrañas,
Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España.
Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España,
Le vieron alejarse una mañana.
Del amo era el olivo, donde lo hallaron
Y la soga de esparto que desataron.
Y el pedazo de tierra donde hoy se pudre
Y el trigo que en la sierra su tumba cubre.
Le vieron alejarse una mañana.
Le llamaban Manuel, nació en España.

Manuel (Version 2)

They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain,
His house was made of mud, of mud and cane.
The lord's lands moistened,
His sweat and his weeping, day after day.
A beggar with a fixed daily wage like him there was none,
Among olives and wheat, for a crust of bread.
His house was made of mud, of mud and cane,
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain.
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain,
His world was another world, beyond the mountain.
The master's were the lands, down below
The blackberries and the flowers of the riverbanks.
The mule and the harness, the bread and the wine,
The trees, the stones and the roads.
His world was another world, beyond the mountain,
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain.
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain,
She was carrying a child in her womb.
Never was anything theirs, they had nothing,
That is why he cried so much when they died.
With his own hands he dug a grave
Burying his dreams next to his wife.
She was carrying a child in her womb,
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain.
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain,
They saw him leave one morning.
The master's was the olive tree, where they found him
And the esparto rope that they untied.
And the piece of land where today he rots
And the wheat that on the mountainside covers his tomb.
They saw him leave one morning.
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain.