Natalia Oreiro "Un ramito de violetas" lyrics

Un ramito de violetas

Era feliz en su matrimonioaunque su marido era el mismo demoniotenia el hombre un poco de mal genioella se quejaba de que nunca fue tiernodesde hace ya mas de tres anosrecibe cartas de un extranocartas llenas de poesiaque le han devuelto la alegria.

Quien te escribia a ti versosdime nina quien eraquien te mandaba flores por primaveraquien cada nueve de noviembrecomo siempre sin tarjetate mandaba un ramito de violetas.

A veces suena ella y se imaginacomo sera aquel que a ella tanto la estimasera mas bien hombre de pelo canosonrisa abierta y ternura en sus manosquien sera quien sufre en silencioquien puede ser su amor secretoella que no sabe nadamira a su marido y luego se calla.

Quien te escribia a ti versosdime nina quien eraquien te mandaba flores por primaveraquien cada nueve de noviembrecomo siempre sin tarjetate mandaba un ramito de violetas

Y cada tarde al volver su esposocansado del trabajo va y la mira de reojono dice nada porque lo sabe todoella es asi feliz de cualquier modoporque el es quien le escribe versosel es su amante, su amor secretoella que no sabe nadamira a su marido y luego se calla

Quien te escribia a ti versosdime nina quien eraquien te mandaba flores por primaveraquien cada nueve de noviembrecomo siempre sin tarjetate mandaba un ramito de violetas...

UN RAMITO DE VIOLETAS

She was happy during her weddingEven though her groom was the very devilThe man had a bit of a bad temperShe complained that he was never affectionateFor about three years nowShe's been receiving anonymous lettersLetters full of poetryThat have brought her joy againWho wrote you [those] verses girl, tell me who was itWho sent you flowers in the springWho every ninth of NovemberAs always without a cardSent you a bouquet of violetsSometimes she dreams and tries to imagineHow that person must be who holds her in such high regardCould he be a man with gray hairA broad smile and tenderness in his handsWho could he be that suffers in silenceWho could be her secret loveShe who doesn't know anythingLooks at her husband and then falls silentWho wrote you [those] verses girl, tell me who was itWho sent you flowers in the springWho every ninth of NovemberAs always without a cardSent you a bouquet of violetsAnd every afternoon when her husband returnsTired from work, he goes and looks at her from the corner of his eyeHe doesn't say anything because he knows everythingShe is happy nonethelessBecause it is he who is writing her the versesHe is her secret lover, her secret romanceShe who doesn't know anythingLooks at her husband and then falls silentWho wrote you [those] verses girl, tell me who was itWho sent you flowers in the springWho every ninth of NovemberAs always without a cardSent you a bouquet of flowers