Hablando De Lobo A Lobo

When the scoundrel finished like that
and I was about to give him his place,
he came to talk about himself
without stopping to flatter.
And he talked a lot,
and more than he said about his advantages,
and among them,
that princes nowadays,
do not marry commoners.
But that was the least,
because in the end his illustrious name
gave him privileges
that any man wouldn't have.
And he offered to the maidens
that he was going to examine,
to choose the most beautiful
and give her the opportunity
of a stormy idyll,
with a renowned count
who also had a palace,
although he didn't remember where.
When I heard such fortunes
that the scoundrel had pronounced,
I replied in strong tones,
sarcastic and indignant.
And so I said... -Well, well.
His tricks have come out
from our storyteller,
to the fine man of words.
To the brute, liar,
treacherous and long-tongued,
who came telling stories,
with the lack of memory
that betrays the loose tongue,
who takes advantage of education
for his own benefit.
I say... he's lost.
I already have him in my clutches,
and I managed to see his ear,
the wolf in sheep's clothing
who sneaked into my house.
To which the trickster
replied raising an eyebrow.
-I liked it when he told me
about the sheep's ear...
or the ear of the sheep
that would scratch its eyebrow
because it itched in its house...?
Did he say something about a sheep
that he already had in his clutches?
Did he say that you were a wolf
and to lose hope?
I don't remember if he told me
if it was a black or white sheep,
if he changed flocks
or just wanders aimlessly;
if it's dinner or lunch,
how he rhymed the words?
To which I replied
somewhat confused... for now:
-Well man, the truth is
that I don't remember either.
-You don't remember, you don't remember!
-he murmured-.
-Neither do I.
Well, where were we?
Oh yes!, because this gentleman interrupted
my teaching,
and it's something I don't tolerate,
comments from the first
who wants to take liberties.
In such a way,
I urge you to stop interrupting,
so... shut up now
and don't let it happen again.
And he stared at me
in a disapproving way,
so I lowered my eyes, and said:
-Please... continue... go on,
tell us more... storyteller.
He acted as if he was thinking,
while hesitating and deciding,
and continued saying:
-Well, I will, when begged.
And then, all in chorus,
and although remembering pains me,
we said in a serious way:
-We beg you, scoundrel.
He looked horrified
at such a huge offense
and an anonymous clarified:
-Count Bruno...
we didn't say what you think.
There was a separation missing:
We beg you without shame.
And he, remembering those tricks
that words play on us,
exclaimed:
-Very well, I continue,
but don't say anything else.
And I suddenly remembered his deceit,
ah!, but it was too late,
and about to hit him
I still held back.
And I approached
to announce:
I'm going to unmask you,
even if it takes all day.
But he didn't listen to me anymore,
he was in another place
and accompanied himself on the guitar
while he began to tell...
I have come from far away,
and I am from everywhere,
I carry my life in my hand,
like the bird in the voice.
I walk on old roads
and although I don't complain about them,
I never owed the highest sovereign
the favor
of thinking what I think,
of earning it in my hand,
of being worth what I cost,
and for what I am, these are:
The songs of a worm.