Текст и перевод песни Lira'n Roll - El Pianista

El Pianista

Esta es la historia de un sabado
Que importa cual mes
Y de un hombre sentado al piano
Que importa cual viejo café
Toma el vaso y le tiemblan las manos
Apestando entre humo y sudor
Y se agarra su tabla de naufrago
Volviendo a su eterna canción
Toca otra vez viejo perdedor
Haces que me sienta bien
Es tan triste la noche que tu cancion
sabe a derrota y a miel
Cada vez el espejo en la pared
Le devuelve mas joven la piel
Se le encienden los ojos y su niñes
viene a tocar junto a el
pero siempre hay borrachos con babas
Que le recuerdan quien fue
El más joven maestro al piano
Vencido por una mujer
Ella nunca quiso hechar raices
Que pudieran sus alas cortar
en la jaula metida la vida se le hiba
Y quiso sus fuerzas robar
no lo daja que de malos pasos
Aunque nunca decea su mal
Pero a ratos con furia golpea el piano
Y hay algunos que le han visto llorar
Toca otra vez viejo perdedor
Haces que me sienta bien
Es tan triste la noche que tu canción
Sabe a derrota y a miel
El micrófono huele a cerveza
Y el calor se podia tocar
Solitarios oscuros buscando pareja
apurados un sabado más
Hay un hombre aferrado al piano
La emoción empapada en alcohol
Y una voz que le dice pareces cansado
Y aun no ha salido ni el sol
Toca otra vez viejo perdedor
Haces que me sienta bien
Es tan triste la noche que tu canción
Sabe a derrota y a miel

The Pianist

This is the story of a Saturday,
The month doesn't matter,
And of a man seated at the piano,
In some old café, it doesn't matter which.
He takes the glass, his hands trembling,
Reeking of smoke and sweat,
He clings to his shipwreck of a life,
Returning to his eternal song.
Play again, old loser,
You make me feel good.
The night is so sad that your song
Tastes of defeat and honey.
Each time, the mirror on the wall
Reflects his skin younger,
His eyes light up and his childhood
Comes to play alongside him.
But there are always drunks with drool
Who remind him of who he was,
The youngest piano master,
Defeated by a woman.
She never wanted to plant roots
That could clip her wings,
Trapped in the cage, her life was fading,
And she wanted to steal his strength.
He doesn't let her take missteps,
Although he never wishes her harm,
But at times he strikes the piano with fury,
And some have seen him cry.
Play again, old loser,
You make me feel good.
The night is so sad that your song
Tastes of defeat and honey.
The microphone smells of beer,
And the heat is almost tangible,
Lonely shadows seeking a partner,
Rushing through another Saturday.
There's a man clinging to the piano,
Emotion soaked in alcohol,
And a voice that tells him, "You seem tired,"
And the sun hasn't even risen yet.
Play again, old loser,
You make me feel good.
The night is so sad that your song
Tastes of defeat and honey.