la maza
Sosa Mercedes Lyrics

Si no creyera en la locura De la garganta del sinsonte Si no creyera que en el monte Se esconde el trino y la pavura
If I didn't believe in the madness, the song and the fear that are hidden in the mountains of the mockingbird's throat, what would be the point?

Si no creyera en la balanza En la razón del equilibrio Si no creyera en el delirio Si no creyera en la esperanza
If I didn't believe in the balance, the reasoning, and the hope that delirium provides, what would be left?

Si no creyera en lo que agencio Si no creyera en mi camino Si no creyera en mi sonido Si no creyera en mi silencio
If I didn't believe in what I create, my journey, my sound, and my silence, what would I be left with?

Si no creyera en lo más duro Si no creyera en el deseo Si no creyera en lo que creo Si no creyera en algo puro
If I didn't believe in the hardest things, my desires, what I believe in, and something pure, what would be my purpose?

Si no creyera en cada herida Si no creyera en la que ronde Si no creyera en lo que esconde Hacerse hermano de la vida
If I didn't believe in every wound, in those that surround me and in what life hides, how would I be able to become someone who understands it?

Si no creyera en quien me escucha Si no creyera en lo que duele Si no creyera en lo que quede Si no creyera en lo que lucha
If I didn't believe in those who listen to me, in what hurts, in what remains, and in the struggle, how could I keep going?

¿Qué cosa fuera? ¿Qué cosa fuera la maza sin cantera? Un amasijo hecho de cuerdas y tendones Un revoltijo de carne con madera Un instrumento sin mejores pretenciones De lucecitas montadas para escena ¿Qué cosa fuera, corazón, qué cosa fuera? ¿Qué cosa fuera la maza sin cantera? Un testaferro del traidor de los aplausos Un servidor de pasado en copa nueva Un eternizador de dioses del ocaso Júbilo hervido con trapo y lentejuela
What would it be, oh heart, what would it be the mace without a quarry? A jumble of strings and tendons, a mishmash of meat and wood, an instrument without any aspiration, just adorned with little lights for the stage. What would it be, oh heart, what would it be the mace without a quarry? A figurehead of the traitor of the applause, a servant of the new-wine past, an eternalizer of gods of the sunset, a jubilation boiled with rags and sequins.