Translation of the song lyrics Donde Se Esconde el Miedo - El Barrio

Donde Se Esconde el Miedo (original)

Después de haber pasao los cuarenta,
Después de haber pedio mil deseos,
De cantarle a los caños de meca,
De sentirme un castigao en tu recreo,
Después de cartear a los poetas,
De anudar el tormento y el miedo,
Y aunque que huelas a flor de canela
Y con los años mueras en el recuerdo,
Aunque me cambie la moda, musa del alba,
Empecé en esta historia majara con mi guitarra.
Hoy tengo que decirles a todos esos señores
Que nunca me quisieron,
Que se metan sus medios por sus santos cojones.
Que con un boca a boca se hizo mi camino,
No es crónica de loca,
Ni sale de mi boca algo que no he vivio.
He caminado por playas de invierno,
Por último fui viejo verano,
De siempre he sonado flamenco,
No he sido maestro del fracaso,
Enero surestó mi comienzo,
Soñé con patios de naranjos,
No tuve lágrimas de hierro,
Fuí ángel y ave de paso.
Hice que mi amor llorara
Por la cruel ausencia,
He gritado calla, calla
Ante la impotencia.
Permítame decirles a todos estos señores
Que siempre he sido raro,
Que el coco ha trucado retales y rencores.
Circo de primavera, insomnio de un vacío,
Sois viento de otras tierras,
Ya no os vale la pena ni el monte del olvio.
Escribo desde el viejo gades mi sutil diario,
Me he sentido a veces tonto enamorao
De una vieja historia de una mujer morena.
La vida me ha enseñado que hay amigos
Y ratones coloraos,
Que sin una cartera a veces dan de lao
Y otras estando contigo se llaman colegas
Despues de haber pasao los cuarenta…
Hice que mi amor llorara
Por la cruel ausencia
He gritado calla, calla
Ante la impotencia.
Permitame decirles a todos estos señores,
Que no vale la pena, que cuando un tema pega
Se cuelgan los honores.
La dueña de mi alma, mi música y la vida,
Noches desesperadas que veo por mi ventana curadas mis herias.
Hoy tengo que decirles a todos esos señores
Que nunca me quisieron,
Que se metan sus medios por sus santos cojones.
Que con un boca a boca se hizo mi camino,
No es crónica de loca,
Ni sale de mi boca algo que no he vivio.
Despues de haber pasao los cuarenta…
(Gracias a Manoly por esta letra)

(translation)

After having passed the forty,
After making a thousand wishes,
Of singing to the pipes of mecca,
Of feeling punished in your recess,
After mailing to the poets,
Of knotting torment and fear,
And although you smell like cinnamon flower
And with the years you die in the memory,
Although I change my fashion, muse of the dawn,
I started in this crazy story with my guitar.
Today I have to tell all those gentlemen
that they never loved me,
Put their media in their holy balls.
That with a word of mouth my way was made,
It is not a chronic of crazy,
Nor does something come out of my mouth that I have not experienced.
I have walked on winter beaches,
At last I was old summer,
I have always sounded flamenco,
I have not been a master of failure,
January sure was my start,
I dreamed of patios with orange trees,
I had no tears of iron,
I was an angel and a bird of passage.
I made my love cry
For the cruel absence,
I have shouted shut up, shut up
Faced with impotence.
Let me tell all these gentlemen
That I have always been strange,
That the coconut has faked scraps and grudges.
Spring circus, insomnia of a void,
You are wind from other lands,
It is no longer worth it to you or the mountain of oblivion.
I write from the old gades my subtle diary,
I have sometimes felt foolish in love
From an old story of a dark woman.
Life has taught me that there are friends
and red mice,
That without a wallet sometimes they give of lao
And others being with you are called colleagues
After being over forty...
I made my love cry
For the cruel absence
I have shouted shut up, shut up
Faced with impotence.
Let me say to all these gentlemen,
That it's not worth it, that when a topic hits
Honors are hung.
The owner of my soul, my music and life,
Desperate nights that I see through my window my wounds healed.
Today I have to tell all those gentlemen
that they never loved me,
Put their media in their holy balls.
That with a word of mouth my way was made,
It is not a chronic of crazy,
Nor does something come out of my mouth that I have not experienced.
After being over forty...
(Thanks to Manoly for these lyrics)