He can tell you the story of three generations, and yet it's never just a violin. He raises children, he marries the eldest, he's the friend of the whole house. His body is made of wood, of the tree of truth, his body in a voice that cannot be imitated. It's a history book, the violin of my father. He has so many memories, the violin of my father. One day he gave me a guitar to have fun with, and since then I've never left it. It's him who gave me this desire to sing, that I would like to share with you. It's all my childhood that I relive each time, when I see those who dance or cry when he's there. It's a history book, the violin of my father. He has so many memories, the violin of my father. On the boat we were going to look for our future, we gave him our memories. He kept them well, and if you doubt it, just ask him. You will hear him moan when he tells our misfortunes, you will see him smile when he tells happiness. It's a history book, the violin of my father. He has so many memories, the violin of my father. The violin of my father. The violin of my father. The violin of my father.