Doña Luisa

Se levanta temprano Doña Luisa
Y cuando el sol ya está aclarando ella ya recoge el café
Cada grano en su mano significa
Las penas que ha sufri'o por causa de algun querer.

Pero en vez de andar llorando, Lucha se pone a cantar
Tarareando se le olvida el que no la supo amar
Pero en vez de andar llorando, si no hay tiempo pa'llorar
Tarareando se le olvida el que no la supo amar.

El color de la piel de Doña Luisa
Se confunde con la tierra de tanta tierra que hay
La mirada tan negra que tenía
Ya se le ha vuelto verde de tanto verde mirar.

Y es que al pié de la montaña
solo hay verde qué mirar
Que con el rojo se mezcla del café por madurar.
Y es que al pié de la montaña
siempre hay tiempo pa'mirar
que con el rojo se mezcla del café por madurar.

Con la noche se acuesta Doña Luisa
y con la luna allá alumbrando ella se pone a conversar
las historias que cuenta van llenando
el espacio que el silencio siempre quiere arrebatar.

Y si no hay luna que escuche tanta vida qué contar
para no hablarle al silencio Lucha prefiere cantar
y si no hay luna que aguante tanta vida qué contar
para ganarle al silencio Lucha se pone a cantar.

Chamame, Argentinean rhythm

In my song "El pueblo", I briefly mentioned the story of three regular people of any Colombian town: Don Chucho the tailor, Don Pepe the fisherman, and Doña Luisa, the woman who dances and sings picking coffee in the mountains. I fell in love with this character and I thought she'd like to have her own song.. that is how "Doña Luisa" was born.

Music and lyrics by Marta Gómez, ©2006

Doña Luisa

Doña Luisa wakes up very early
And by sunrise she's already picking coffee
For every bean in her hand there's sorrow for a lost love.

But instead of crying, "Lucha" would rather sing
As singing she forgets, those who coudn't love her.
But instead of crying, Since there's no time for tears
Singing she forgets, those who coudn't love her.

Her skin turns the color of the earth
There's so much of it
And her sight, so black before
Turns green from all the green she sees.

Down by the mountainside,
there is only green to see,
green that gets mixed
with the red beans of the harvest.
Down by the mountainside,
there is all the time to see,
time that gets mixed
with the red beans of the harvest.

With the night, Doña luisa goes to bed
And with the moon up above she talks
The stories she tells fill the space that silence wants for itself.

And if there's no moon to hear
all the life she has to tell
Luisa'd rather sing to win the silence its battle
And if no moon could bear
all the life she has to tell
Luisa'd rather sing to win the silence its battle.

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