Son los artistas, equilibristas

They are the artists, tightrope walkers

They are like children, seeking shelter,
sad birds, dreaming of friends.
Between delirium and sanity,
they play their dreams of madness.
Without the artists, tightrope walkers,
on the scaffold of their deceptions.
They come and go without rest,
masters of the air, jesters, friars
of a God of colorful crystals.
From laughter to pain and from tears to love,
from drama to comedy, there is everything in the fair
when a man raises his curtain.
They live day by day, they suffer and hope,
they are important, they are immigrants.
They found stages, they are adored,
they are well loved, they are insulted.
They are good people among the people.
They spend their bad hours alone.
Applause and failures, there are the artists,
putting their heart into life.