Sapo Cancionero

Toad of the night, singing toad,
Who lives dreaming next to your lagoon.
Tenor of the puddles, grotesque troubadour,
You are enchanted with love for the moon.

I know of your life without any glory;
I know of the tragedies of your restless soul.
And that madness of love for the moon
Is the eternal madness of every poet.

Singing toad:
Sing your song,
For life is sad,
If we don't live it with an illusion.

You know yourself ugly, ugly and deformed;
That's why during the day you hide your ugliness
And at night you sing your melancholy
And your song sounds like a litany.
Your voices ring out in open rivalry;
Your verses are empty yet so beautiful
Don't you know, perhaps, that the moon is cold,
Because she gave her blood for the stars?