Текст и перевод песни Omara Portuondo - O que será (A flor da terra)

O que será (A flor da terra)

Oh que será, que será
Que andan suspirando por las alcobas
Que andan, susurrando en versos y trovas
Que andan, escondiendo bajo las ropas,
Que andan en las cabezas y anda en las bocas
Que va encendiendo velas en callejones
Que estan hablando alto en los bodegones
Estan en el mercado, está con certeza
En la naturaleza, será que será
Que no tiene certeza, ni nunca tendrá
Lo que no tiene arreglo, Ni nunca tendrá
Que no tiene tamaño
O que será, que será?
Que vive nas idéias desses amantes
Que cantam os poetas mais delirantes
Que juram os profetas embriagados
Que está na romaria dos mutilados
Que está na fantasia dos infelizes
Que está no dia a dia das meretrizes
No plano dos bandidos dos desvalidos
Em todos os sentidos...
Será, que será?
O que não tem decência nem nunca terá
O que não tem censura nem nunca terá
O que não faz sentido...
Oh que será, que será
Que todos los avisos no van a evitar
Porque todas las risas van a desafiar
Y todas las campanas van a replicar
Porque todos los signos van a consagrar
Porque todos los niños se habrán de zafar
Y todos los destinos se irán a encontrar
Y el mismo padre eterno que nunca fue allá
Al ver aquel infierno lo bendecirá,
Que no tiene gobierno, ni nunca tendrá
Que no tiene vergüenza, ni nunca tendrá
Lo que no tiene juicio

What Will Be (The Flower of the Earth)

Oh, what will it be, what will it be
That people whisper of in alcoves
That people murmur in verse and songs
That people hide beneath their cloaks
That people think of and talk of
That lights candles in alleyways
That people speak of loudly in taverns
It's in the market, it's there for sure
In nature, what will it be
That has no certainty, nor ever will
That has no solution, nor ever will
That has no size
Oh, what will it be, what will it be
That lives in the minds of lovers
That poets sing of in their most delirious moments
That prophets swear by when drunk
That's in the pilgrimage of the mutilated
That's in the fantasies of the unhappy
That's in the daily lives of prostitutes
In the plans of bandits and the helpless
In every sense...
What will it be, what will it be
That has no decency nor ever will
That has no censorship nor ever will
That makes no sense...
Oh, what will it be, what will it be
That no warnings will prevent
Because all laughter will defy it
And all bells will ring out
Because all signs will consecrate it
Because all children will break free
And all destinies will meet
And the eternal father himself, who has never been there,
Will bless it when he sees that hell,
That has no government, nor ever will
That has no shame, nor ever will
That has no judgment