Текст и перевод песни Rock'n Rolas - Cantares

Cantares

Todo pasa y todo queda
Pero lo nuestro es pasar
Pasar haciendo caminos
Caminos sobre la mar

Nunca persegui la gloria
Y dejar en la memoria
De los hombres mi canción
Vamos los mundos humildes
Ingrabidos y gentiles

Como bombas de jabón
Me gusta verlos pintarse
De soligrana al volar
Bajo el cielo azul temblar
Subitamente y quebrarse
Nunca persegui la gloria

Caminante son tus guellas
En el camino y nada más
Caminante no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar
Al andar se hace camino y al mover la vista atras
Se ve la senda que nunca se a devolver a pisar
Caminante no hay camino

Si no estelas en la mar

Así algun tiempo en ese lugar
Dónde hoy los bosques se visten vestidos
Se oyó la voz de un poeta gritar
Caminante no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar

Golpe a golpe
Verso a verso

Murió el poeta lejos del hogar
Le cubre el polvo de un pais vecino
Al alejarse le vieron llorar
Caminante no hay camino

Se hace camino al andar
Golpe a golpe
Verso a verso

Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar
Cuando el poeta es un peregrino
Cuando de nada nos sirve rezar
Caminante no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar

Golpe agolpe verso a verso
Golpe a golpe verso a verso
Golpe a golpe verso a verso

Songs

Everything passes and everything remains,
But our fate is to pass,
To pass making paths,
Paths over the sea.

I never pursued glory,
Nor to leave in the memory
Of men my song.
We go, the humble worlds,
Weightless and gentle,

Like soap bubbles.
I like to see them painted
With pomegranate red as they fly,
Trembling under the blue sky,
Suddenly, and then break.
I never pursued glory,

Traveler, your footprints are
The path, and nothing more;
Traveler, there is no path,
The path is made by walking.
By walking, the path is made, and upon glancing back
You see the trail that you will never tread again.
Traveler, there is no path,

Only wakes upon the sea.

Thus, for some time in that place
Where today the forests dress in gowns,
The voice of a poet was heard to cry out:
Traveler, there is no path,
The path is made by walking.

Blow by blow,
Verse by verse.

The poet died far from home;
The dust of a neighboring land covers him;
As he departed, they saw him weep.
Traveler, there is no path,

The path is made by walking.
Blow by blow,
Verse by verse.

When the goldfinch cannot sing,
When the poet is a pilgrim,
When prayer is of no avail,
Traveler, there is no path,
The path is made by walking.

Blow by blow, verse by verse,
Blow by blow, verse by verse,
Blow by blow, verse by verse.