Se levanta muy temprano
con todo el día por delante.
Y da vueltas por la casa,
estorbando en todas partes.
Se anuda al fin la corbata,
en tiempos tan elegante.
Lo mismito que un pincel
el viejo se echa a la calle.

Con el pan debajo el brazo
visita todos los bares.
Tomás, ponnos unos tintos
que invito a las amistades.
A voces arregla el mundo
y a voces, aunque se pase,
pontifica de los toros,
de la liga y del cante.

“Si las cosas, ya le digo,
soplaran con otros aires,
y aquella maldita guerra
como acabó no acabase,
ni aquí estaría yo ahora,
ni usted. Y lo más probable
es que la tortilla misma
la vuelta tendría que darse”.

Y suspira con nostalgia
de aquel que todo lo sabe.
Y una mirada a esa niña,
que la edad no mata el hambre.
Hoy es día veintiocho
y la pensión viene tarde.
“A los viejos, ya le digo,
lo bailao no nos quita nadie”.

Con un vinito en el cuerpo
el viejo a su casa se abre.
Ella lo espera en la puerta.
“Menudo cuerpo me traes”.
Comen los dos en silencio.
De vez en cuando una frase
rompe las cuatro paredes.
“¿Decías algo?¿Me hablaste?”.

Son tantos años de oírse
que no saben escucharse.
“¿Sabes algo de los chicos?”
“El mayor llamó ayer tarde”.
Pasan el tiempo en silencio.
Después de comer no salen.
Luego cenan y ven tele
un ratito y a acostarse.

Si las cosas, es verdad,
soplaran con otros aires.
Si la sombra del olvido
con el tiempo no arrastrase
recuerdos que en este otoño
dejan huérfano el paisaje,
otro gallo cantaría,
quizá no sería tan tarde.

Y suspira con nostalgia
de aquel que todo lo sabe.
Y una mirada a esa niña,
que la edad no mata el hambre.
Hoy es día veintiocho
y la pensión viene tarde
A los viejos, ya le digo,
lo bailao no nos quita nadie.

Translated Version

He gets up very early
with all day ahead.
And he walks around the house,
getting in the way everywhere.
He finally knots his tie,
in such elegant times.
The same thing that a brush
the old man throws hes into the street.

With bread under his arm
visit all the bars.
Thomas, put some reds on us
that I invite to friendships.
Voiced fixes the world
and in voices, even if it happens,
pontifica of bulls,
league and singing.

"If things, I say,
blow with other airs,
And that damn war
as it ended, it didn't end,
neither here would I be now,
neither do you. And most likely
is that the omelette itself
turn around would have to happen."

And he sighs wistfully
of the one who knows everything.
And a look at that girl,
that age doesn't kill hunger.
Today is twenty-eight days
and the pension is late.
"To the old, I say,
Dancing doesn't take anyone away from us."

With a little wine in the body
the old man to his house opens.
She's waiting for you at the door.
"What a body you bring me."
The two eat in silence.
Occasionally a phrase
breaks all four walls.
Did you talk to me?"

It's so many years of hearing each other
who can't hear each other.
"Do you know anything about the boys?"
"The eldest called late yesterday."
They pass the time in silence.
After lunch, they don't come out.
Then they have dinner and tv
for a little while and to go to bed.

If things, it's true,
blow with other airs.
If the shadow of oblivion
over time don't crawl
memories that this fall
leave the landscape orphaned,
another rooster would sing,
maybe it wouldn't be so late.

And he sighs wistfully
of the one who knows everything.
And a look at that girl
that age doesn't kill hunger.
Today is twenty-eight days
and the pension is late
To the old ones, I say,
Dancing doesn't take anyone away from us.