El Hombre del Piano

He takes the glass and his hands tremble,
stinking between smoke and sweat,
and clings to his life raft
returning to his eternal song.
na nana naranananarana nara naaa nananaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Play again, old loser,
you make me feel good,
the night is so sad that your song
tastes like defeat and honey.

Every time the mirror on the wall
shows him younger skin,
his eyes light up and his childhood
comes to play beside him;
but there are always drunks with drool
who remind him of who he was,
the youngest piano master
defeated by a woman.
na nana naranana narana nara naaa nananaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

She always feared putting down roots
that could cut her wings,
and in the cage she was in, life was slipping away
and she wanted to test her strength;
she doesn't regret taking wrong steps
although she never wishes ill,
but sometimes with fury, she hits the piano
and some who have seen her cry.
na nana naranana narana nara naaa nananaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Play again, old loser,
you make me feel good,
the night is so sad that your song
tastes like defeat and honey.

The microphone smells like beer
and the heat could be cut with a knife,
dark loners, looking for a partner
rushing through one more Saturday;
there's a man clinging to a piano
emotion soaked in alcohol,
and a voice that tells him: 'you look tired
and the sun hasn't even risen yet'.
na nana naranana narana nara naaa nananaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Play again, old loser,
you make me feel good,
the night is so sad that your song
tastes like defeat and honey.