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Sad songs # 3

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Hijo de la Luna


Here's a video




Hijo de la luna

Tonto el que no entienda.

Cuenta una leyenda

Que una hembra gitana

Conjuró a la luna

Hasta el amanecer.

Llorando pedía

Al llegar el día

Desposar un calé.

"Tendrás a tu hombre,

Piel morena,"

Desde el cielo

Habló la luna llena.

"Pero a cambio quiero

El hijo primero

Que le engendres a él.

Que quien su hijo inmola

Para no estar sola

Poco le iba a querer."


Luna quieres ser madre

Y no encuentras querer

Que te haga mujer.

Dime, luna de plata,

Qué pretendes hacer

Con un niño de piel.

A-ha-ha, a-ha-ha,

Hijo de la luna.

De padre canela

Nació un niño

Blanco como el lomo

De un armiño,

Con los ojos grises

En vez de aceituna --

Niño albino de luna.

"¡Maldita su estampa!

Este hijo es de un payo

Y yo no me lo callo."


Gitano al creerse deshonrado,

Se fue a su mujer,

Cuchillo en mano.

"¿De quien es el hijo?

Me has engañado fijo."

Y de muerte la hirió.

Luego se hizo al monte

Con el niño en brazos

Y allí le abandono.


Y en las noches

Que haya luna llena

Será porque el niño

Esté de buenas.

Y si el niño llora

Menguará la luna

Para hacerle una cuna.

Y si el niño llora

Menguará la luna

Para hacerle una cuna.



Translation (not mine, my Spanish ends with 'dos cervesa por favor' and 'vamos a la playa'


Son of the moon



Foolish is he who doesn't understand.

A legend tells of a gipsy woman

Who pleaded with the moon until dawn.

Weeping, she begged for a gipsy man

To marry the following day.

"You'll have your man, tawny skin,"

Said the full moon from the sky.

"But in return I want the first child

That you have with him.

Because she who sacrifices her child

So that she is not alone,

Isn't likely to love him very much."






Moon, you want to be mother,

But you cannot find a love

Who makes you a woman.

Tell me, silver moon,

What you intend to do

With a child of flesh.

A-ha-ha, a-ha-ha,

Son of the moon.

From a cinnamon-skinned father

A son was born,

White as the back of an ermine,

With grey eyes instead of olive --

Moon's albino child.

"Damn his appearance!

This is not a gipsy man's son

And I will not put up with that."




Believing to be dishonoured,

The gipsy went to his wife,

A knife in his hand.

"Whose son is this?

You've certainly fooled me!"

And he wounded her mortally.

Then he went to the woodlands

With the child in his arms

And left it behind there.


And the nights the moon is full

It is because the child

Is in a good mood.

And if the child cries,

The moon wanes

To make him a cradle.

And if the child cries,

The moon wanes

To make him a cradle.



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