Hive Openmic week #53 - Cover Song El papalote / The papalote Silvio Rodríguez by @davidcentenor.

Dear friends of #hive and the #openmic week 53, I am excited, because I proposed this week's theme, something crazy and daring, toys, I did it thinking that it would be interesting, to achieve a song with such a theme, because I spent all week looking for it, I thought of one too good but I could not ride it because of its difficulty, but I got myself with a jewel of the singer-songwriter Silvio Rodríguez named "El papalote" a magical story of the parrot-making of the peoples who give life in any region of the world, the lyrics will make you fly like a papalote, and the magic of its chorus in ascending chords and the phrase "falls, falls, falls" is the part that I like the most of this emotional song, I know that you will like and that is why my emotion when singing it for all of you family #hive, hugs for all and good vibes.

El Papalote

Silvio Rodríguez

Será por tu vivienda
Hecha de ruinas y de misterios
Porque rompías la roca
Para ganarte un par de medios
O por tus tirapiedras
Los más famosos de la loma
Con la mejor horqueta
De la guayaba y duras gomas
Será por todo esto
Que mi memoria se empina a ratos
Como tus papalotes
Los invencibles, los más baratos,
Y te levanta en peso
Narciso «El Mocho», para ponerte
Junto a los elegidos
Los que no caben en la muerte

El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
Se va a bolina la imaginación
Buena cuchilla lo picó,

Una vez de tus manos
Un coronel salió brillando
Que pájaro perfecto
Cuantos colores, que lindo canto,
Ninguno de nosotros
Iba a volarlo, ya se sabía
Era un encargo caro
Del que mandaba, del que tenía

Llevabas en el puño
Aquel dinero de la tristeza
Dinero de aguardiente
Del sol de Cuba, de la cerveza,
Y te seguimos todos
A celebrarlo, sucios y locos
Para tí, «Carta Oro»
Y caramelos para nosotros

El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
Se va a bolina la imaginación
Buena cuchilla lo picó,

La gente te chiflaba
Cuando en la tarde
Subías borracho
Tu contestabas piedras
Y maldición a tus muchachos,
Eras el personaje
De los trajines de tu pueblo
Eras para la gracia
Eras un viejo, eras negro

Una noche el respeto
Bajó y te puso bella corona
Respeto de mortales
Que muerto al fin te hizo persona
Pobre del que pensó
Pobre de toda aquella gente,
Que el día más importante
De tu existencia
Fue el de muerte

El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
Se va a bolina la imaginación
Buena cuchilla lo picó.

the Papalote

Silvio Rodríguez

It'll be because of your home.
Made of ruins and mysteries
Because you broke the rock
To earn you a couple of means
Or for your slingshots
The most famous of the hill
With the best horqueta
From the guava and hard rubbers
It's going to be for all this.
Let my memory get steep at times
Like your potatoes
The invincible, the cheapest,
And it lifts you up in weight
Narcissus "El Mocho", to put you
Alongside the chosen
Those who don't fit in death

The papalote, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The papalote, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The imagination is going to bolinate
Good blade stung him,

Once out of your hands
A colonel came out shining
What a perfect bird
How many colors, what a nice song,
None of us
I was going to blow it up, you knew
It was an expensive assignment.
The one I was in charge of, the one I had

You were wearing in your fist
That money of sadness
Brandy money
From the sun of Cuba, from beer,
And we're all following you.
To celebrate, dirty and crazy
For you, "Golden Letter"
And candy for us

The papalote, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The papalote, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The imagination is going to bolinate
Good blade stung him,

People were crazy about you.
When in the afternoon
You went up drunk
You answered stones
And damn your boys,
You were the character
From the trajines of your people
You were for grace
You were an old man, you were black

One night respect
He came down and put you beautiful crown
Respect for mortals
That dead finally made you a person
Poor thing he thought of
Poor of all those people,
That the most important day
Of your existence
It was death.

The papalote, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The papalote, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The imagination is going to bolinate
Good blade stung him.