Below is the lyrics of the song Pólvora mojada , artist - Rayden with translation
Original text with translation
Rayden
Avivando la llama con las manos sudadas
Calles abarrotadas y ahora, se bate en retirada
Y tú, que haces como si nada y nos haces la cama
El tiro de gracia, tantos gilipollas y tan pocas balas
Perdiendo la calma, ¿dónde está exiliada?
Voces silenciadas, la muerte anunciada
Y tú, la espina clavada que nos saca del mapa
Me duele hasta el alma cuando haces de sorda y también de callada
Y no me callaré aunque me lo digas, harto de despedidas
Di que esa boca sí que es mía
Y si me voy has de saber que no salvé los muebles de tus llamas
Lo pude hacer pero ya me cansé de pólvora mojada
Si me ves volver será para arrancar del labio la mordaza
Quitar el pan de quien nos quiere mal traer con sus migajas
A marchas forzadas, con la herida descalza va…
Duele cada pisada alejada mal dada marcando distancias
Entre dos miradas está otra franja horaria
La línea divisoria que empieza en el punto donde todo acabará
Cruzando horizontes de lengua extranjera
Grita polizonte, miedo del centinela
Vidas obligadas a ser refugiadas cruzan la frontera
Nadie es profeta en su tierra, solo es portadores de vergüenza ajena
No me pararé aunque me lo digas, no vivo de rodillas
Sigo baldosas amarillas
Tengo un faro que ilumina cada uno de los pasos
Que quedan por recorrer
Cuando te pierda la pista o de vista
Pero no mis ganas de volverte a ver… o verte volver
Y si me voy has de saber que no salvé los muebles de tus llamas
Lo pude hacer pero ya me cansé de pólvora mojada
Si me ves volver será para arrancar del labio la mordaza
Quitar el pan de quien nos quiere mal traer con sus migajas
Y si me voy, y si me voy, y si me voy…
Esto es el canto de la gente desterrada
Que no vuelven a dar vueltas de campana
Fanning the flame with sweaty hands
Crowded streets and now she's on the run
And you, who do as if nothing and make us the bed
The coup de grace, so many assholes and so few bullets
Losing my cool, where is she exiled her?
Silenced voices, death foretold
And you, the stuck thorn that takes us off the map
It hurts my soul when you play deaf and also silent
And I won't shut up even if you tell me, tired of goodbyes
Say that mouth is mine
And if I leave you should know that I did not save the furniture from your flames
I could do it but I'm tired of wet gunpowder
If you see me come back it will be to tear the gag from the lip
Take away the bread of those who want to bring us badly with their crumbs
At forced marches, with the wound barefoot he goes…
It hurts each footstep away badly given marking distances
Between two looks is another time slot
The dividing line that starts at the point where everything will end
Crossing foreign language horizons
Shout cop, fear of the sentinel
Lives forced to be refugees cross the border
Nobody is a prophet in his land of him, they are only carriers of other people's shame
I will not stop even if you tell me, I do not live on my knees
I follow yellow tiles
I have a beacon that illuminates each of the steps
What's left to go
When you lose track or out of sight
But not my desire to see you again... or see you return
And if I leave you should know that I did not save the furniture from your flames
I could do it but I'm tired of wet gunpowder
If you see me come back it will be to tear the gag from the lip
Take away the bread of those who want to bring us badly with their crumbs
And if I go, and if I go, and if I go...
This is the song of the exiled people
They don't go back to ringing
Songs in different languages
High-quality translations into all languages
Find the texts you need in seconds