Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Tour de Francia, artist - Vetusta Morla. Date of issue: 19.11.2015
Song language: Spanish
Tour de Francia(original) |
| En la playa y con honores |
| Enterramos los relojes |
| Funeral por el despertador |
| Luego, en un corcel ciclista |
| Damos vueltas a la isla |
| Y no hay podio para el vencedor |
| Escribieron nuestros nombres |
| Con brochazos blancos y al revés |
| Igual que en Tourmalet |
| Lanzados por un mes, van |
| Perdidos en el pelotón |
| Salvados a contrarreloj |
| En brazos del sofá, van |
| Nadando en contrapedal |
| Hundidos en la general |
| Pero a flote |
| Cromos, naipes, sombras, siestas |
| Libros viejos y una gesta |
| Que se asoma en el televisor |
| Reinas en el chiringuito |
| Miran a un señor bajito |
| Que dejó en la arena su maillot |
| Carne de meta volante |
| Flota de medusas al sprint |
| Agosto llega al fin |
| Septiembre ya está aquí, van |
| Perdidos en el pelotón |
| Salvados a contrarreloj |
| En brazos del sofá, van |
| Nadando en contrapedal |
| Hundidos en la general |
| Pero a flote |
| Quince eneros después |
| Ya con julio en ciernes |
| No dan para más los pies |
| Y nos quema un sol ausente, inerte |
| Mientras van ya |
| Bajando el puerto de las tres |
| Con diarios del ochenta y seis |
| Guardando el pecho, y van, van |
| Quedando fuera de control |
| Repiten la misma canción |
| Sin ver París, y van, y van |
| Perdidos en el pelotón |
| Salvados a contrarreloj |
| En brazos del sofá, van |
| Nadando en contrapedal |
| Hundidos en la general |
| Pero a flote |
| Antihéroes |
| (translation) |
| On the beach and with honors |
| We buried the clocks |
| funeral for the wake |
| Then on a cycling steed |
| We go around the island |
| And there is no podium for the winner |
| They wrote our names |
| With white brushstrokes and backwards |
| Same as in Tourmalet |
| Released for a month, they go |
| lost in the platoon |
| saved against the clock |
| In the arms of the sofa, they go |
| swimming in coaster |
| Sunken in the general |
| but afloat |
| Cards, cards, shadows, naps |
| Old books and a feat |
| That appears on the television |
| Queens at the beach bar |
| They look at a short man |
| That he left his jersey in the sand |
| Flying Meta Meat |
| Sprint Jellyfish Fleet |
| August comes to an end |
| September is already here, go |
| lost in the platoon |
| saved against the clock |
| In the arms of the sofa, they go |
| swimming in coaster |
| Sunken in the general |
| but afloat |
| fifteen january later |
| Already with July in the making |
| They do not give for more the feet |
| And an absent, inert sun burns us |
| as long as they go |
| Going down the port of three |
| With eighty-six newspapers |
| Saving the chest, and they go, they go |
| getting out of control |
| They repeat the same song |
| Without seeing Paris, and they go, and they go |
| lost in the platoon |
| saved against the clock |
| In the arms of the sofa, they go |
| swimming in coaster |
| Sunken in the general |
| but afloat |
| antiheroes |