La Gloria de Manhattan

Graceful as the horses,
he descended 42nd Street
with a little glass of beer
and a little song hummed softly.

At the time of the wretched ones,
between dusk and neon,
there's a homeless and a nobody
building a cardboard jail.

And what are you telling me, 'my friend',
about your bay
if I'm from the island,
look at the art and joy.
If I didn't lack
my woman and her freckles,
they would know at the Madison
that the big singing is what counts.

She defended herself in dance,
he had never been 'El Caracol',
but he sang well
with a little tap and a lantern.

They arrived with those ships,
and with their half-ration face
couldn't do their little flamenco
against the towers of gold and concrete.

After almost a year thrown away,
I have no bar left,
and she left on a boat
heading straight for the island.
And things will be different, 'my friend',
if they had told me:
the glory of Manhattan
starts from the fifth floor.

And at Vargas' tavern she said
she wouldn't step on Main Street
to beg for a fixed salary,
to end up eaten by the salt.

I was born for glory,
I will reign through soleares,
and she will dance bulerías
all the way to the Statue of Liberty.

Don't mess with me, 'my friend',
I sleep on this corner:
if you make a little space for me
I'll sing you a Porrinas.
If I didn't lack
Lucía and her freckles,
they would know at the Madison
that the big singing is what counts.

And what are you telling me, 'my friend',
about your bay,
if I'm from the island,
look at the art and joy.
And things will be different, 'my friend',
if they had told me:
the glory of Manhattan, 'brothers',
starts from the fifth floor