Tonto el que no entienda.

Cuenta una leyenda

Que una hembra gitana

Conjuró a la luna

Hasta el amanecer.

Llorando pedía

Al llegar el día

Desposar un calé.

"Tendrás a tu hombre,

Piel morena,"

Desde el cielo

Habló la luna llena.

"Pero a cambio quiero

El hijo primero

Que le engendres a él.

Que quien su hijo inmola

Para no estar sola

Poco le iba a querer."

Estribillo:

Luna quieres ser madre

Y no encuentras querer

Que te haga mujer.

Dime, luna de plata,

Qué pretendes hacer

Con un ni?o de piel.

A-ha-ha, a-ha-ha,

Hijo de la luna.

De padre canela

Nació un ni?o

Blanco como el lomo

De un armi?o,

Con los ojos grises

En vez de aceituna --

Ni?o albino de luna.

"?Maldita su estampa!

Este hijo es de un payo

Y yo no me lo callo."

Estribillo

Gitano al creerse deshonrado,

Se fue a su mujer,

Cuchillo en mano.

"?De quien es el hijo?

Me has enga?ado fijo."

Y de muerte la hirió.

Luego se hizo al monte

Con el ni?o en brazos

Y allí le abandono.

Estribillo

Y en las noches

Que haya luna llena

Será porque el ni?o

Esté de buenas.

Y si el ni?o llora

Menguará la luna

Para hacerle una cuna.

Y si el ni?o llora

Menguará la luna

Para hacerle una cuna.

Translation:

Son of the moon

Foolish is he who doesn't understand.

A legend tells of a gipsy woman

Who pleaded with the moon until dawn.

Weeping, she begged for a gipsy man

To marry the following day.

"You'll have your man, tawny skin,"

Said the full moon from the sky.

"But in return I want the first child

That you have with him.

Because she who sacrifices her child

So that she is not alone,

Isn't likely to love him very much."

Chorus:

Moon, you want to be mother,

But you cannot find a love

Who makes you a woman.

Tell me, silver moon,

What you intend to do

With a child of flesh.

A-ha-ha, a-ha-ha,

Son of the moon.

From a cinnamon-skinned father

A son was born,

White as the back of an ermine,

With grey eyes instead of olive --

Moon's albino child.

"Damn his appearance!

This is not a gipsy man's son

And I will not put up with that."

Chorus

Believing to be dishonoured,

The gipsy went to his wife,

A knife in his hand.

"Whose son is this?

You've certainly fooled me!"

And he wounded her mortally.

Then he went to the woodlands

With the child in his arms

And left it behind there.

Chorus

And the nights the moon is full

It is because the child

Is in a good mood.

And if the child cries,

The moon wanes

To make him a cradle.

And if the child cries,

The moon wanes

To make him a cradle.