No Serás Nunca El Flautista de Hamelín

There was a man glued to a flute
With only one foot to walk
Day after day he searched for a corner
And turned it into a home.

With a sign spread at his feet
Talking about loneliness
There was a man of few words
Dressed in an old tailcoat.

You will never be the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
The children won't go, nor the rats after you.

It was a flute made of bone
It looked like ivory
With a date engraved on the tip
Of something that speaks of Madrid.

From some bet when getting off the tram
And a man about to die
From that leg thrown on the track
That now plays for you.

He left the hospital with his happy leg under his arm
They didn't agree to be separated
They wanted to bury it.

With a saw he cut that piece
That could work
He polished it very carefully
Until it finally made a sound.