Текст и перевод песни Joan Manuel Serrat - Manuel (Version 3)

Manuel (Version 3)

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 3)

They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain,
His house was made of clay, of clay and reeds.
The landlord's lands moistened
His sweat and his tears, day after day.
A beggar with a fixed salary like him, there was no one
Among olive trees and wheat, for a crust of bread.
His house was made of clay, of clay and reeds,
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 owned the lands, down the road
The blackberries and the flowers of the slopes.
The mule and the gear, the bread and 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.
Nothing was ever theirs, they had nothing,
That's why he cried so much when they died.
He dug a grave with his own hands
Burying his dreams alongside 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 go away one morning.
The olive tree where they found him belonged to the master
And the esparto rope that they untied.
And the piece of land where he now rots
And the wheat that covers his grave in the mountains.
They saw him go away one morning.
They called him Manuel, he was born in Spain.