Piano Man

It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me
Makin' love to his tonic and gin

He says, "Son, can you play me a melody?
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"

La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da


Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me."
As the smile ran away from his face
"Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place"

Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talkin' with Davy who's still in the navy
And probably will be for life

And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinkin' alone



It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see
To forget about life for a while
And the piano, it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"

Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Billy Joel

Esta es la historia de un sábado
de no importa que mes
y de un hombre sentado al piano
de no importa que viejo café.
Toma el vaso y le tiemblan las manos
apestando entre humo y sudor
y se agarra a su tabla de naufrago
volviendo a su eterna canción.

Toca otra vez viejo perdedor
haces que me sienta bien
es tan triste la noche que tu canción
sabe a derrota y a miel.

Cada vez que el espejo de la pared
le devuelve mas joven la piel
se le encienden los ojos y su niñez
viene a tocar junto a el.
Pero siempre hay borrachos con babas
que le recuerdan quien fue
el mas joven maestro al piano
vencido por una mujer.

Ella siempre temió echar raíces
que pudieran sus alas cortar
y en la jaula metida la vida se le iba
y quiso sus fuerzas probar.
No lamenta que de malos pasos
aunque nunca desea su mal
pero a ratos con furia golpea el piano
y hay algunos que le han visto llorar.

Toca otra vez...

El micrófono huele a cerveza
y el calor se podría cortar
solitarios oscuros buscando pareja
apurándose un sábado mas.
Hay un hombre sentado a un piano
la emoción empapada en alcohol
y una voz que le dice pareces cansado
y aun no ha salido ni el sol...

Toca otra vez...