La Culpa - Buena Fe

No tuvo culpa quien nos inventó el dinero

Ni el pobre chino que a la pólvora dio a luz

Ni la oratoria encumbrada de los griegos

Ni el carpintero de la tan famosa cruz

Ni aquella bala, de andar perdida

Ni los gusanos en la cosecha podrida

Huérfana culpa vuela sin dueños

Donde se pose, nunca crecerán los sueños

Nunca crecerán los sueños

No tiene culpa el papel por lo que aguante

Ni el instrumento por el disonante acorde

Ni las costuras para que se vea elegante

La recia porra que cuelga del uniforme

Ni los escombros, de haber caído

Ni los relojes de cuanto se ha envejecido

Si corre el llanto

Si no resulta

Me duele tanto

Cuando la culpa

Ay, la culpa, la maldita culpa

No la tiene nadie

Ay, la culpa, la maldita culpa

No la tiene nadie

¿Cómo que no la tiene nadie?

Que no es lo mismo previsores que adivinos

Que no es igual recitación, que improvisando

Que es preferible quien lo intenta y ha perdido

Que quien blasfema pero nunca va intentado

Culpa sin rostro como incentivos

Para enfermarse de rechazo irreflexivo

Lance unos golpes (Yo lance un acorde), se hizo esta rumba

Una ilusión como linterna en la penumbra

Quiero esa culpa de empinar los imposibles

Que mis abuelos me obsequiaron en la infancia

Denme la culpa de estallar cuando se arrime

La cobardía con disfraz de tolerancia

Culpa coraje, culpa valiente

Esa otra culpa es la que aplaude el inocente

Si corre el llanto

Si no resulta

Lo que me jode

Lo que me insulta

…que la culpa

La maldita culpa

No la tiene nadie

Guías de guaguancó:

Demasiao generales pa poco recluta

Que a la muela de oro, le falta la pulpa

Si no rasca el respeto, no pica la multa

A ese perro tan grande lo mata una pulga

Lo que grita la calle, el informe lo oculta

Los que manchan la patria, la historia sepulta

It was not his fault who invented money for us

Not even the poor Chinese who gave birth to gunpowder

Nor the lofty oratory of the Greeks

Not even the carpenter of the famous cross

Not even that bullet, of being lost

Nor the worms in the rotten harvest

Orphan guilt flies without owners

Where it sits, dreams will never grow

Dreams will never grow

The paper is not to blame for what it endures

Nor the instrument for the dissonant chord

Nor the seams to make it look elegant

The strong club that hangs from the uniform

Nor the rubble, of having fallen

Nor the clocks of how old it has become

If the crying runs

If it doesn't work out

It hurts so much

when the blame

Oh, the guilt, the damn guilt

Nobody has it

Oh, the guilt, the damn guilt

Nobody has it

How come no one has it?

Foresights are not the same as fortune-tellers

That recitation is not the same as improvising

That it is preferable who tries it and has lost

That who blasphemes but never goes tried

Faceless guilt as incentives

To get sick of thoughtless rejection

I threw a few hits (I threw a chord), this rumba was made

An illusion like a lantern in the gloom

I want that guilt of climbing the impossible

That my grandparents gave me in childhood

Give me the blame for exploding when he gets close

Cowardice disguised as tolerance

Blame courage, blame brave

That other guilt is the one that the innocent applauds

If the crying runs

If it doesn't work out

what pisses me off

what insults me

…that the blame

the damn blame

Nobody has it

Guaguancó guides:

Too many generals for few recruits

That the gold tooth lacks the pulp

If you don't scratch the respect, you don't hit the fine

That big dog is killed by a flea

What the street shouts, the report hides

Those who stain the country, buried history