El Violín De Becho

Becho plays the fiddle in the orchestra,
face of a kid without a teacher,
and the orchestra is no good, it doesn't
have more than a single fiddle that hurts.

'Cause Becho's fiddles hurt him,
they're like his love, little ones;
Becho wants a fiddle that's a man,
that doesn't mention pain and love.

Becho has a fiddle that doesn't love him,
but he feels the fiddle calling him,
at night like a repentant man,
he falls in love again with that sad sound.

Brown wooden butterfly,
child fiddle that despairs,
when Becho doesn't play and calms down,
the fiddle keeps playing in his soul.

'Cause Becho's fiddles hurt him,
they're like his love, little ones;
Becho wants a fiddle that's a man,
that doesn't mention pain and love.

Life and death, fiddle, father and mother;
the fiddle sings and Becho is the air,
he can't play in the orchestra anymore,
because loving and singing come at a cost.

Lararalararailalalaila...