Mahareta

And it's the common story
Of an old crazy man
Who almost never
Knew where he was going,
He would get up at night
And go to bed in the mornings
He dedicated himself to picking flowers
And playing with the shrews.

And wandering around
He never stopped singing,
With a flower behind his ear
He repeated incessantly...
But look at how he is
With his patched shirt
But look at how he is
His pants half worn out,
But look at how he is
And he never stopped dancing
But look at how he is
With his bottle full of wine.

And that crazy old man
With his lit cigarette
Spent the hours alone,
And stayed out of trouble,
Another sip from his bottle
To forget who he has been
The loves of the past
And all that he has suffered.

And wandering around
He never stopped singing,
With a flower behind his ear
He repeated incessantly...
But look at how he is
With his patched shirt
But look at how he is
His pants half worn out,
But look at how he is
And he never stopped dancing
But look at how he is
With his bottle full of wine.

But look at how he is
And his treasure is freedom
But look at how he is
What does it matter if it's hot or cold
But look at how he is
Like a child wanting to play
But look at how he is
In the hiding place of his emptiness

But look...