Текст и перевод песни Mi Banda El Mexicano - Ramito De Violetas - En Vivo

Ramito De Violetas - En Vivo

Era feliz en su matrimonio aunque su marido era el mismo demonio
Tenía el hombre un poco de mal genio
Ella se quejaba de que nunca fue tierno
Desde hace ya, más de tres años recibe cartas
De un extraño, cartas llenas de poesía que le han devuelto la alegría

Quién te escribía a ti versos dime niña quién era
Quién te mandaba flores en primavera
Con amor las recibias como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba a ti un ramito de violetas

Aveces sueña a veces se imagina
¿Cómo será aquel que a ella tanto la estima?
Será más bien hombre de pelo cano
Sonrisa abierta y de ternura en sus manos
¿Quién será aquel? Sufre en silencio
¿Quién puede ser su amor secreto?
Ella que no sabe nada mira a su marido y luego se calla

Quién te escribía a ti versos dime niña quién era
Quién te mandaba flores en primavera
Con amor las recibias como siempre sin tarjete
Te mandaba a ti un ramito de violetas

Cada tarde al volver su esposo
Cansado del trabajo va y la mira de reojo
No dice nada porque él lo sabe todo
Ella es feliz así de cualquier modo, porque él es fiel
Le escribe versos, él es su amante, su amor secreto
Ella que no sabe nada, mira a su marido y luego se calla

Quién te escribía a ti versos dime niña quién era
Quién te mandaba flores en primavera
Con amor las recibias como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba a ti un ramito de violetas

A Little Bunch of Violets - Live

I was happy in my marriage even though my husband was a bit of a devil
The man had a bit of a temper
She complained that he was never affectionate
For over three years now she has been receiving letters
From a stranger, letters full of poetry that have brought her joy

Who was writing you verses, tell me, my dear, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in the spring
You received them with love as always with no card
He used to send you a little bunch of violets

Sometimes she dreams, sometimes she imagines
What will the man who esteems her so much be like?
He will most likely be a man with grey hair
An open smile and tender hands
Who could he be? She is suffering in silence
Who could be her secret love?
She who knows nothing looks at her husband and then she is quiet

Who was writing you verses, tell me, my dear, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in the spring
You received them with love as always with no card
He used to send you a little bunch of violets

Every evening when her husband returned
Tired from work, he would look at her sidelong
He says nothing because he knows everything
She is happy like this anyway because he is faithful
He writes verses to her, he is her lover, her secret love
She who knows nothing, looks at her husband and then she is quiet

Who was writing you verses, tell me, my dear, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in the spring
You received them with love as always with no card
He used to send you a little bunch of violets