Costurera Lyrics – María Peláe
Singer: María Peláe
Title: Costurera
Ahora que los ángeles duermen
Ahora que es cuando se esta mejor
Las yemas recorren sus sienes
Un recogido bajo
Y se planta una flor
Acaricia sus pómulos fuertes
Ella piensa
Que quien la va a cuidar mejor
Trabaja despacio pero no se entretiene
Que, hoy hay varios trapitos
Que empiece la función
Y mientras baila
El aire con las cortinas
María imagina que cose vidas atadas
Golpe de máquina se inclina
Y es que ella va a ritmo de bulerías
Ovillo en una maicena
Y coscorrones de pan
Ovillo en una maicena
Y coscorrones de pan
Detrás del aplauso
Detrás de las velas
Artista no es cualquiera
Pero tampoco es artista
Al que más se le venera
Artista es mi madre
Artista era mi abuela
Artista el que llora
Y artista el que aprecia
La papiroflexia en servilletas
Las flores improvisadas
El ritmo a manos y piernas
El reciclador de lamparas
El niño que crea en la tierra
La cocinera que antes lo prueba
La costurera, Dios
Y quien en la caída despierta
Y mientras baila
El aire con las cortinas
María imagina que cose vidas atadas
Golpe de máquina se inclina
Y es que ella va a ritmo de bulerías
Cose con hilo fino que el amor
Va escaseando
Remienda esos flecos que el arte son
Tus manos
Cose con hilo fino que el amor
Va escaseando
Remienda esos flecos que el arte son
Tus manos
Que el arte son tus manos
Que el arte son tus manos
Que el arte son tus manos
Son tus manos
Find more lyrics at lyrics.jspinyin.net
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Costurera – English Translation
Now that Los Angeles sleep
Now that is when you are better
The yolks cross their temples
A low collection
And a flower is planted
He caresses his strong cheekbones
She thinks
That who will take care better
She works slowly but she does not entertain
That, today there are several strokes
Starting the function
And while she dances
The air with the curtains
María imagines that she sews lives tied
Tap
And is that she goes to pace bulerias
Ovillo in a cornstarch
And loafers of bread
Ovillo in a cornstarch
And loafers of bread
Behind the applause
Behind the candles
Artist is not anyone
But she is not an artist either
Whoever has been veined
Artist is my mother
Artist was my grandmother
Artist who cries
And artist who appreciates
Origami on napkins
The improvised flowers
The rhythm at hand and legs
The recycler of lamps
The child who creates on earth
The cook that before testing it
Seamstress, God
And who in the fall awake
And while she dances
The air with the curtains
Maria imagines that she sews tied lives
Tap
And is that she goes to pace bulerias
Sew with fine thread that love
She goes scarce
She renders those fringes that art are
Your hands
Sew with fine thread that love
She goes scarce
Remind those fringes that art are
Your hands
That art is your hands
That art is your hands
That art is your hands
They are your hands
Find more lyrics at lyrics.jspinyin.net
Lyrics María Peláe – Costurera
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