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Sarah Brightman Miscellaneous 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." Estribillo: Luna quieres ser madre Y no encuentras querer Que te haga mujer. Dime, luna de plata, Qué pretendes hacer Con un ni?o de piel. A-ha-ha, a-ha-ha, Hijo de la luna. De padre canela Nació un ni?o Blanco como el lomo De un armi?o, Con los ojos grises En vez de aceituna -- Ni?o albino de luna. "?Maldita su estampa! Este hijo es de un payo Y yo no me lo callo." Estribillo Gitano al creerse deshonrado, Se fue a su mujer, Cuchillo en mano. "?De quien es el hijo? Me has enga?ado fijo." Y de muerte la hirió. Luego se hizo al monte Con el ni?o en brazos Y allí le abandono. Estribillo Y en las noches Que haya luna llena Será porque el ni?o Esté de buenas. Y si el ni?o llora Menguará la luna Para hacerle una cuna. Y si el ni?o llora Menguará la luna Para hacerle una cuna. Translation: 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." Chorus: 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." Chorus 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. Chorus 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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