La Cruz de Santiago - Mägo De Oz

No era el hombre más honesto

Pero él…

Era un hombre valiente y fiel

Tampoco la piedad se cobijaba en él

Malvivía, alquilando por tres maravedís

Su espada y vizcaína en

Ajustes de poco lustre y de peor fin

Eran tiempos duros y había que buscarse el pan

Reinaban la picaresca, la espada y el «voto a tal»

Brilla el acero en su mano

Perla su cara el sudor

Donde el mar no tiene dueño irá…

Irá a buscar

A su espalda, una sombra y a pie

Le seguía sin perder ningún detalle

Parecía aprender

Su mirada reflejaba calma y paz

Su voz grave y familiar

Relataba leyendas de la antigüedad

Algo misterioso le envolvía, no dormía jamás

Cuentan que se alimentaba del relato popular

Brilla la Cruz de Santiago

En su pecho, por el Sol

Su rostro jamás descubrió

Su nombre ocultó

En el tejado del tiempo

En el desván de los sueños

Se ahoga una voz:

«No creas en todo lo que veas

Sólo haz caso a tu intuición

Y si albergas la duda

Nunca hallarás consuelo en tu interior

Lanza bien los dados

Porque el juego del camino ha comenzado

Agudiza tu ingenio

Sírvete de mancias

Sírvete del tarot

Lee en el alma del bosque

Y adivina dónde la muerte se escondió"

He wasn't the most honest man

But…

He was a brave and faithful man

Neither was mercy sheltered in him

He lived poorly, renting for three maravedís

His sword from him and vizcaína in

Low-gloss and worst-end settings

Those were hard times and bread had to be found

The picaresque, the sword and the "vote to such" reigned

The steel shines in his hand

Pearl his face from him the sweat

Where the sea has no owner it will go…

will go looking

At his back from him, a shadow and walk

He followed him without losing any detail

he seemed to learn

His gaze reflected calm and peace

His voice deep and familiar

He recounted legends of old

Something mysterious enveloped him, he never slept

They say that he fed on the popular story

The Cross of Santiago shines

In his chest of him, by the Sun

His face never discovered

His name from him hid

on the roof of time

In the attic of dreams

A voice drowns:

"Don't believe everything you see

Just listen to your intuition

And if you harbor the doubt

You'll never find comfort inside

roll the dice well

'Cause the road game has begun

sharpen your wits

Help yourself to mancias

Use the tarot

Read in the soul of the forest

And guess where death hid"