Hijo de la luna - Brightman Sarah

Tonto el que no entienda.



Cuenta una leyenda

Que una hembra gitana

Conjur a la luna

Hasta el amanecer.

Llorando peda

Al llegar el da

Desposar un cal.





"Tendrs a tu hombre,

Piel morena,"

Desde el cielo

Habl la luna llena.

"Pero a cambio quiero

El hijo primero

Que le engendres a l.

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,

Qu pretendes hacer

Con un nio de piel.

A-ha-ha, a-ha-ha,

Hijo de la luna.





De padre canela

Naci un nio

Blanco como el lomo

De un armio,

Con los ojos grises

En vez de aceituna --

Nio 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 engaado fijo."

Y de muerte la hiri.

Luego se hizo al monte

Con el nio en brazos

Y all le abandono.





Estribillo



Y en las noches

Que haya luna llena

Ser porque el nio

Est de buenas.

Y si el nio llora

Menguar la luna

Para hacerle una cuna.

Y si el nio llora

Menguar la luna

Para hacerle una cuna.



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.