A cross on the Saso
where the dogs are howling solitude, where every night
light the fire pa 'dinner
crumbs, grape and wine for those who are gone.
I curse the city.
"Father, that people no longer pa 'live
come with us to Madrid ..."
So tell me about my children but I'm staying,
and here I shall die.
This is an excerpt from the song There's a cross in the Saso, written by Gabriel Mauricio Aznar Soper and was recorded by one of the best rock bands Aragonese More beers. Both Mauritius and Gabriel were born in my neighborhood Zaragoza, Casablanca. Mauricio sadly died, but gave us a good discography and good times for those who knew him.
When I first heard, I thought he meant Leciñena, it was the only place where I knew a place called El Saso, over the years I discovered that in many villages of Aragón was one Saso, ie a flat at an elevation of land.
This is the song of many towns, villages are gradually depopulated, some are lucky that their former inhabitants are on weekends, others do that. At least we now live Azaila 30 people.
Where I live in a few years I have seen people disappear, as every time we are more alone and seems to be no solution. People who venture to come and live with some left and others here are.
The Black Reaper.
I present my bike, "the skinny black" is a tribute to the people I've met who are gone, those people with their old bicycle brake rods clung to their peoples and to those men who refused to take a car because they thought they did not need while watching that young people were leaving when they drive into town and did not return.
The Fates.
or Fates The Fates in Greek mythology are the ones that spin our lives, those that control the thread of each of us. Even the gods feared the Fates.
of his fingers depend our lives, when the Fates cut the thread life is over.
Uncle John
Uncle John always was a bike, never had a car until shortly before his death he gave a ride on his bike, was very philosophical, was a pleasure to have a coffee with . It was actually my mother's uncle, but this land is called normal guys uncle your parents. Last year, the fates decided to cut your thread.
My black iron bike I always remember him. People who stay in the villages, which are going to live in them, the poet José Mariano Leciñena, Gregory nor will ever buy a car, all those who have gone and come dedicate this entry.
And now I leave the whole song to enjoy it, more information at:
http://www.masbirras.com
THERE IS A CROSS IN THE
SASO (G. Soper, M . Aznar)
Far from the valley and the capital, where the mountains
is blue, where the distance
is Mount
and the sky is treated on equal terms. Where the shepherds
created a country where justice
was an honor,
this is the land where I was born. Noble
home where one day the men marked their law.
A cross on the Saso
where the dogs are howling solitude, where every night
light the fire pa 'dinner
crumbs, grape and wine for those who are gone. I curse the cuiudad
because they all left here, and Germain
I just stayed.
Germanus died in February,
now only hear their livestock.
now only and I echo.
A cross on the Saso
where the dogs are howling loneliness
Every evening I turn on the fire pa 'dinner
crumbs, grape and wine for those who are gone.
I curse the city.
"Father, that people no longer pa 'live
come with us to Madrid ..."
So tell me about my children but I'm staying,
and here I shall die.
With hands full and a name of king,
marked by wind and sun,
my life is part of this land.
I belong to that race of men that one day
marked his law.
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