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Gloria a Dios en las alturas,
recogieron las basuras
de mi calle, ayer a oscuras
y hoy sembrada de bombillas.
Y colgaron de un cordel
de esquina a esquina un cartel
y banderas de papel
verdes, rojas y amarillas.
Y al darles el sol la espalda
revolotean las faldas
bajo un manto de guirnaldas
para que el cielo no vea,
en la noche de San Juan,
cómo comparten su pan,
su mujer y su galán,
gentes de cien mil raleas.
Apurad que allí os espero si queréis venir
pues cae la noche y ya se van nuestras miserias a dormir.
Vamos subiendo la cuesta
que arriba mi calle se vistió de fiesta.
Hoy el noble y el villano,
el prohombre y el gusano
bailan y se dan la mano
sin importarles la facha.
Juntos los encuentra el sol
a la sombra de un farol
empapados en alcohol
magreando a una muchacha.
Y con la resaca a cuestas
vuelve el pobre a su pobreza,
vuelve el rico a su riqueza
y el señor cura a sus misas.
Se despertó el bien y el mal,
la zorra pobre al portal,
la zorra rica al rosal
y el avaro a las divisas.
Se acabó, que el sol nos dice que llegó el final.
Por una noche se olvidó que cada uno es cada cual.
Vamos bajando la cuesta
que arriba en mi calle se acabó la fiesta.
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Glory be to God perfected,
All the garbage got collected.
My street, once dark and neglected,
Now is all lit up and glowing.
And they strung across the street
A banner painted on a sheet,
And paper flags, red as a beet,
Green and yellow, freely blowing.
And now as the sun is setting,
Skirts are fluttering and fretting
Underneath a flowered netting,
So that from above it covers
How on this midsummer night
People of every stripe
Share their bread to the last bite,
And their spouses and their lovers.
Hurry up, I’ll be there waiting if you want to come,
For night is falling and our miseries are slowly
going numb.
Let’s climb the hill to the party,
For up on my street the fiesta’s starting.
Now they’re dancing, slob and dandy,
And the peasant and the grandee.
As each takes the other’s hand, he
Pays no mind to their position.
Then the sun will find them camped
In the shade of a street lamp,
Full of liquor, hot and damp,
Groping girls without permission.
And, hung over to their bladders,
Go the poor back to their tatters,
Go the rich back to their scatters,
And the preacher to his ravings.
Now good and evil are awake,
The poor fox goes to the gate,
The rich fox goes to his stake,
And the miser to his savings.
It’s the end, the sun is telling us it’s good and done.
For just one night we could forget that everyone is
only one.
Then down the hill we’ll be wending,
For up on my street the fiesta’s ending.
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