Текст и перевод песни Juliane Banse - Chiquilin de Bachin (arr. José Carli)

Chiquilin de Bachin (arr. José Carli)

Por las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
ChiquilínPor las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
ChiquilínPor las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
ChiquilínPor las noches, cara sucia
De angelito con bluyín
Vende rosas por las mesas
Del boliche de Bachín
Si la luna brilla
Sobre la parrilla
Come luna
Y pan de hollín
Cada día en su tristeza
Que no quiere amanecer
Lo madruga un seis de enero
Con la estrella del revés
Y tres reyes gatos
Roban sus zapatos
Uno izquierdo y el otro, ¡también!
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín
Cuando el sol pone a los pibes
Delantales de aprender
Él aprende cuánto cero
Le quedaba por saber
Y a su madre mira
Yira que te yira
Pero no la quiere ver
Cada aurora, en la basura
Con un pan y un tallarín
Se fabrica un barrilete
Para irse, ¡y sigue aquí!
Es un hombre extraño
Niño de mil años
Que por dentro
Le enreda el piolín
Chiquilín
Dame un ramo de voz
Así salgo a vender
Mis vergüenzas en flor
Baleame con tres rosas
Que duelan a cuenta
Del hambre que no te entendí
Chiquilín

Chiquilin de Bachin (arr. José Carli)

At night, with a dirty face,
Like a little angel in blue jeans,
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
Over the grill,
He eats moonlight
And soot-blackened bread.
Every day in his sadness,
Which doesn't want to dawn,
He's awoken by a sixth of January
With a backward star.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids'
aprons for learning,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Turning and turning,
But he doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the garbage,
With bread and a noodle,
He builds a kite
To fly away, but he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child,
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boyAt night, with a dirty face,
Like a little angel in blue jeans,
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
Over the grill,
He eats moonlight
And soot-blackened bread.
Every day in his sadness,
Which doesn't want to dawn,
He's awoken by a sixth of January
With a backward star.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids'
aprons for learning,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Turning and turning,
But he doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the garbage,
With bread and a noodle,
He builds a kite
To fly away, but he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child,
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boyAt night, with a dirty face,
Like a little angel in blue jeans,
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
Over the grill,
He eats moonlight
And soot-blackened bread.
Every day in his sadness,
Which doesn't want to dawn,
He's awoken by a sixth of January
With a backward star.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids'
aprons for learning,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Turning and turning,
But he doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the garbage,
With bread and a noodle,
He builds a kite
To fly away, but he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child,
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boyAt night, with a dirty face,
Like a little angel in blue jeans,
He sells roses at the tables
Of Bachín's bar.
If the moon shines
Over the grill,
He eats moonlight
And soot-blackened bread.
Every day in his sadness,
Which doesn't want to dawn,
He's awoken by a sixth of January
With a backward star.
And three cat kings
Steal his shoes,
The left one and the other one, too!
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boy,
When the sun puts on the kids'
aprons for learning,
He learns how much zero
He had left to know.
And he looks at his mother,
Turning and turning,
But he doesn't want to see her.
Every dawn, in the garbage,
With bread and a noodle,
He builds a kite
To fly away, but he's still here!
He's a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child,
Whose insides
Are tangled by the string.
Little boy,
Give me a bouquet of your voice,
So I can go out and sell
My shame in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt like
The hunger I didn't understand in you.
Little boy