Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Romance de José Etxailarena, artist - Marea. Album song Coces al Aire 1997-2007, in the genre Иностранный рок
Date of issue: 03.12.2007
Record label: Warner Music Spain
Song language: Spanish
Romance de José Etxailarena(original) |
Escap de la cama, |
Con lo bien que estaba con tus besos de canela en rama, |
Con tu sol que rezuma como si fuera espuma, |
Pero va, preparad la escombrera, |
Que me enciendo y ruedo muy flamenco por las escaleras, |
Como un soplo de cierzo, tal que una enredadera. |
Este nio nunca va a llegar a n, |
Se murmuran entre todos al pasar |
Y es que me aspiro la vida en tres cals, |
La primera le pega fuego al colchn, |
La segunda gira todas las veletas, |
La tercera va arrasando las cunetas de mi corazn. |
Y entra el amor, flaco y mojao, |
Como una raspa de pescao |
Como un beso puesto al trasluz, |
Y de su mano llegas tu, con tu pelo como el betn, |
Como un piropo bien tirao, |
Es como salir de la trena, |
Aunque cuando estoy contigo corra el vino tinto por mis venas |
Y salir de tu ombligo no merezca la pena, |
Pa qu? |
Pa encontrarme perdo?, |
Pa rodar como ruedan al mar las piedritas del rio? |
Pa encontrarme a tu mundo?,… Pa eso ya tengo el mo Este nio se nos va a descalabrar |
Se murmuran entre todos al pasar |
Y es que me meto la vida en tres cals, |
La primera se atrinchera en un rincn, |
La segunda me va haciendo menos dao, |
La tercera est subiendo los peldaos de mi corazn. |
Y entra el amor, flaco y mojao, |
Como una raspa de pescao |
Como un beso puesto al trasluz, |
Y de su mano llegas tu, con tu pelo como el betn, |
Como un piropo bien tirao, |
No hay romance ni flor que supuren amor viviendo en un florero, |
No se pueden regar con agita con sal las matas de romero, |
Morirn sin razn, casi igual que el olor de los invernaderos, |
Los tallos de verdad no se deben quebrar… No… |
(translation) |
escape from bed, |
With how good I was with your cinnamon stick kisses, |
With your sun that oozes like foam, |
But go, prepare the dump, |
That I turn on and roll very flamenco down the stairs, |
Like a wind blow, like a vine. |
This kid will never get to n, |
They whisper to each other as they pass |
And it is that I suck my life in three cals, |
The first sets fire to the mattress, |
The second turns all the weather vanes, |
The third is sweeping the gutters of my heart. |
And love enters, skinny and wet, |
Like a fish bone |
Like a kiss held up to the light, |
And from his hand you arrive, with your hair like bitumen, |
Like a well thrown compliment, |
It's like getting off the train, |
Although when I'm with you, red wine runs through my veins |
And getting out of your navel isn't worth it, |
for what? |
To find myself lost? |
To roll like the pebbles of the river roll into the sea? |
To find your world?,... For that I already have mine This child is going to disintegrate us |
They whisper to each other as they pass |
And it is that I put my life in three limes, |
The first entrenches itself in a corner, |
The second one is doing me less damage, |
The third is climbing the steps of my heart. |
And love enters, skinny and wet, |
Like a fish bone |
Like a kiss held up to the light, |
And from his hand you arrive, with your hair like bitumen, |
Like a well thrown compliment, |
There is no romance or flower that festers love living in a vase, |
The rosemary bushes cannot be watered with shakes with salt, |
They will die for no reason, almost like the smell of greenhouses, |
The real stems should not be broken... No... |