Lyrics of Con la camisa rota - Marea

Con la camisa rota (original)

Vengo a robarte la siesta con la manilla del desván
Con toses de carretero vengo vendiendo cal
Y es que traigo colmo en los cajones
De hollín de mis pulmones, de agujas de tejer
Chispas del cruzar de cables de ojitos miserables
Que no quisieron ver
Vengo de trenzar esparto para la reja de un penal
Despeinando a la tristeza, que está recién pintá
Y es que guardo su lamento quedo
Goteando entre los dedos en cántaros de cinc
Y en zurrones de miseria, bombillas de la feria
Perfume de alperchín
Y me voy con la camisa rota
Porque me he hecho una bandera
Con guirnaldas de guijarros
Plumas de palomas negras
Que el verso que le di al aire
Muere de cualquier manera
Y en el cielo de tu boca
Se lo comerá la niebla
Vengo a herrar a las orugas para después condecorar
A las abejas que no venden la miel de su panal
Y es que traigo nubes de rabieta que inunden las macetas
De ganas de encallar
Lagrimitas traicioneras, tiñendo las bañeras…
…cuchillas de afeitar
Y me voy con la camisa rota
Porque me he hecho una bandera
Con guirnaldas de guijarros
Plumas de palomas negras
Que el verso que le di al aire
Muere de cualquier manera
Y en el cielo de tu boca
Se lo comerá la niebla

(translation)

I come to steal your nap with the attic handle
With the cough of a carter I have been selling lime
And it is that I bring high in the drawers
From soot from my lungs, from knitting needles
Sparks from the crossing of wires from miserable little eyes
that they did not want to see
I come from braiding esparto grass for the fence of a prison
disheveling sadness, which is freshly painted
And it is that I keep your lament
Dripping between the fingers in zinc pitchers
And in bags of misery, light bulbs from the fair
alperchín perfume
And I leave with a torn shirt
Because I have made a flag
With pebble garlands
black pigeon feathers
That the verse that I gave to the air
die anyway
And in the sky of your mouth
The fog will eat it
I come to shoe the caterpillars to later decorate
To the bees that do not sell the honey from their honeycomb
And it is that I bring clouds of tantrums that flood the pots
wanting to run aground
Treacherous little tears, staining the bathtubs…
…razor blades
And I leave with a torn shirt
Because I have made a flag
With pebble garlands
black pigeon feathers
That the verse that I gave to the air
die anyway
And in the sky of your mouth
The fog will eat it