Seguidilla calesera
Ernesto Halffter Escriche
In the morning
My lads go to work,
While I'm cursing
On the coachman's seat.
Oh my God!
I reach whatever I want
But you.
It has rained tonight
Tomorrow there's mud
Poor mule draught
Poor lads
And more if the foreman
Get drunk.
How wretched
The one who can't cry
And is sad.