Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Violín Del Monte, artist - Peteco CarabajalDate of issue: 07.09.2015
Song language: Spanish
Violín Del Monte(original) |
| Violinista de los montes |
| músico del campo nuestro |
| se te está yendo la vida |
| entre zambas y recuerdos |
| El arco deshilachado |
| conjuga todo los tiempos |
| y llora todo los lloros |
| de la esperanza y el sueño. |
| Con tu violín de tres cuerdas |
| en verano y en invierno |
| sigues tocando y tocando |
| hasta que se entra el lucero. |
| Tu fortuna es de amistad |
| no sabes lo que es dinero |
| los sentires que te animan |
| están más allá del tiempo. |
| Cuando llega el carnaval |
| cruzas montes y potreros |
| y sales buscando fiesta |
| con tu silbo de señuelo. |
| Con tu ponchito gastado |
| cubres tu violín zambero |
| igual que a un niño dormido |
| lo cuida a tu instrumento. |
| Violinista de los montes |
| músico del campo nuestro. |
| Y así te pasas las horas |
| entre danza y zapateo |
| y de vez en cuando tocas |
| la danza de tus recuerdos. |
| Entonces te trae la tarde |
| la luz de unos ojos negros |
| que prometieron volver |
| y que lejos se perdieron. |
| Violinista de los campos |
| músico humilde del cerro |
| como llora tu violín |
| eternizado en el viento. |
| (translation) |
| fiddler of the hills |
| country musician |
| your life is going away |
| between zambas and memories |
| the frayed bow |
| conjugate all tenses |
| and cries all the cries |
| of hope and dreams. |
| With your three-stringed violin |
| In summer and in winter |
| you keep playing and playing |
| until the star enters. |
| Your fortune is friendship |
| you don't know what money is |
| the feelings that animate you |
| they are beyond time. |
| When the carnival arrives |
| you cross mountains and paddocks |
| and you go out looking for a party |
| with your decoy whistle. |
| With your worn ponchito |
| you cover your zambero violin |
| just like a sleeping child |
| take care of your instrument. |
| fiddler of the hills |
| musician from our country. |
| And so you spend the hours |
| between dance and zapateo |
| and from time to time you play |
| the dance of your memories. |
| Then the evening brings you |
| the light of black eyes |
| who promised to return |
| and how far they were lost. |
| fiddler of the fields |
| humble musician from the hill |
| how your violin cries |
| eternal in the wind. |