From town to town
the wind takes him
following the path,
his homeland is the world,
like a vagabond,
goes the puppeteer.
He comes from far away,
crossing the old
paths of stone.
He is from that race
that from plaza to plaza
he sings us his pain.
Allez hop!
Puppeteer, allez hop!
from festival to festival.
Always cheerful,
he sings his dreams
and his miseries.
Empty his saddlebag
of dreams that he forges
on his long gait.
He brings down a star for us
that erases the remnant
of a bitter memory.
He sings his romance
to the sound of a dance -
hybrid and foreign,
so that the villager
fills his hand
with the little there is.
Allez hop!
Puppeteer, allez hop!
from festival to festival.
Always cheerful,
he sings his dreams
and his miseries.
And at the fall of night
in the old carriage
he will put away the trinkets,
and just as he came
follows his path
alone and sad.
And perhaps tomorrow
through that window
which shows the path
his complaint arrives to us
while he is lost in the distance
the puppeteer.