Текст и перевод песни Violeta Parra - La Muerte Con Anteojos

La Muerte Con Anteojos

Todas las noches conmigo
Se acuesta a dormir un muerto
Aunque esté vivo y despierto;
Confuso es lo que les digo,
Que es una mortaja, amigo,
Que se alimenta de hinojo,
Después se lava los ojos
Pa' reposar en la tumba
Y a mi lado se derrumba
Este finado de anteojos.

Se arrancó del cementerio
Con una corona puesta;
Una mujer deshonesta
Le hizo perder el criterio,
Esto pa' naide' es misterio,
Lo digo con amargura
Aunque yo tenga buenura,
Al muerto poco le importa
Y como esta vida es corta
Anda con tanta locura.

De qué le sirve el consuelo,
Tal esqueleto es la muerte;
De qué me sirve la suerte
Si me da tanto desvelo,
Me está causando recelo,
El frío lo tiene mudo
Pero a su llamado acudo
Porque así será el destino
Este finado ladino
Quiso ser mío y no pudo.

Debo de ser muy fatal
Pa' venir de san clemente
A probar inútilmente
Lo amargo de este panal;
Es poca toda la sal
Que hay en la pampa de chile
Pa' curarle las cien miles
Angustias que le dejaron
Coquetas que lo humillaron
Dejándolo sin abriles.

Por fin, amables oyentes,
Les pido con devoción:
Recemos una oración
Por este muerto viviente,
Es finado inteligente
Por eso es que yo lo estimo,
A su muerte yo me arrimo
Con esperanza y con fe
Pero qué hacer yo no sé,
Y si lo sé no me animo.

Death with Glasses

Every night with me
A dead man lies down to sleep
Even though he's alive and awake;
Confusing is what I tell you,
That it's a shroud, my friend,
That feeds on fennel,
Then it washes its eyes
To rest in the grave
And it collapses beside me
This deceased with glasses.

He tore himself from the cemetery
With a wreath on his head;
A dishonest woman
Made him lose his mind,
This is no mystery to anyone,
I say it with bitterness
Even though I have a good heart,
The dead man cares little
And because this life is short
He walks with such madness.

What good is sympathy to him,
Such a skeleton is death;
What good is luck to me
If it gives me so much despair,
It's causing me suspicion,
The cold has left him speechless
But I answer his call
Because that's how fate will be
This cunning dead man
Wanted to be mine and couldn't.

I must be very fatal
To come from San Clemente
To taste in vain
The bitterness of this honeycomb;
All the salt there is
In the Chilean pampa is too little
To heal the hundreds of thousands
Anguish that was left by
Coquettes who humiliated him
Leaving him without springs.

Finally, dear listeners,
I ask you with devotion:
Let us pray
For this living dead man,
He is an intelligent deceased
That's why I appreciate him,
I cling to his death
With hope and with faith
But what to do I don't know,
And if I do, I don't dare.