Que Fue de Los Cantautores

What happened to the singer-songwriters?
We were so libertarian, almost revolutionary
Naive like brave, baby-faced and smiling
The best of each house, black sheep who ignore tradition
Bleating against the current from the island to the continent, it was the new song

We were good people, intelligent bumpkins
Eccentric bearded men, neighborhood working-class
University progressives dreaming in a song
And living the utopia convinced that one day the revolution would come

Learning to share life in a smile
The sky in a caress, the kiss in a rush
We were sowing songs in this barren land
And poetry flourished and we filled stadiums
And in many neighborhood parties our melody sounded

Afternoons and nights of glory that changed our history
And this country of bumpkins, Fascists with hairy chests
Servile priests and nuns, gray and civil guards
Mustached officials and petty tyrants
At the service of a caste that controlled your money
Your fear and your heart

Flag patriots, first-class Spaniards
Of the true Spain, so noble and fierce
That killed another half. Arm raised and face to the Sun
Loyal to the movement, to the height and talent of the little dictator
Who was the leader of Spain by the grace of God

Bullfighting in a foreign arena, everything changed suddenly
Politicians leading the troubadour's entourage
Truths were changed, so much you sell, so much you're worth and the transition came
Democracy is great, singer-songwriter to your trenches
With a laurel wreath and badges of honor
But don't bother anymore, your verse doesn't captivate
And your time has passed

What happened to the singer-songwriters?
They ask with a strange air every four or five years, confused journalists
Who lost track of us and buried our voice
And so it goes for more than thirty years with the same question, touching my nerves
Take note gentlemen, I won't repeat it

Some are deputies, presidents, councilors, doctors and teachers
Or working as advisors in the society of authors
Others are here but don't sing, others sing but aren't here
Some retired, some already dead
And others yet to be born

Young people who are now also university students
Neighborhood working-class, roaming the city
A CD under their arm, guitar slung over their shoulder
Ten euros in their wallet, singing from bar to bar
Or those rapper poets, denouncing in their pamphlets
Another social reality

And women, who knows
Especially if we talk about the glorious first ones
Who had the ovaries and the necessary courage
To get on stage in that rural Spain

What happened to the singer-songwriters?
Here you have me, gentlemen
As in my best times, making a scene, which is my thing
And even if it's cold in winter, I still have spring
An April to wait and a big pain in my heart

What happened to the singer-songwriters?
Here you have me, gentlemen
Still alive and kicking
And in these verses singing our truths from yesterday
That splash the present and the stinking crap that crawls under our feet

What happened to the singer-songwriters?
Of the many who started? Of the few who remain?
Of those who still resist? Of those who don't give up?
Here we are, each in our trench
Making poetry our daily bread

The cat has seven lives
Even if it doesn't catch mice
There's a singer-songwriter for a while
Singer-songwriter, to your songs
Cobbler, to your shoes