Can somebody translate these lyrics for me?

Question

Sapo de la noche... sapo cancionero, que vives soñando junto a tu laguna,
tenor de los charcos grotesco trovero, estás embrujado de amor por la luna,
tenor de los charcos grotesco trovero, estás embrujado de amor por la luna,
Yo sé de tu vida... sin gloria ninguna, sé de la tragedia de tu alma inquieta,
y ésa tu locura de adorar la luna, es locura eterna de todo poeta;
y ésa tu locura de adorar la luna, es locura eterna de todo poeta;
CHORUS
Sapo cancionero... canta tu canción,
que la vida es triste si no la vivimos con una ilusión... que la vida es triste si no la vivimos con una ilusión...

Tú te sabes feo..., feo y contrahecho, por eso de día tu fealdad ocultas,
y de noche cantas tu melancolía y suena tu canto como letanía;
y de noche cantas tu melancolía y suena tu canto como letanía;
Repican tus voces, en franca porfía, tus coplas son vanas como son tan bellas,
no sabes acaso que la luna es fría, porque dió su sangre para las estrellas (repeats agin x2)

Answer 1

Hey, this is just a free online translation from google.com, so it's going to be word for word and therefore, not exactly the best translation, but it should give you some idea of what the songs on about.... toads, by the sound of it

Toad at night… toad song book, that you live dreaming next to your lagoon, tenor of the pools grotesco trovero, you are bewitched of love by the moon, tenor of the pools grotesco trovero, you are bewitched of love by the moon, I know of your life… without glory no, I know of the tragedy of your anxious soul, and that one your madness to adore the moon, is eternal madness of all poet; and that one your madness to adore the moon, is eternal madness of all poet; CHORUS Toad song book… sings your song, that the life is sad if we did not live it with an illusion… that the life is sad if we did not live it with an illusion… You know and hunchback ugly…, ugly, for that reason by day your fealdad hidden, and at night you sing your melancholy and sounds your song like litany; and at night you sing your melancholy and sounds your song like litany; Repican your voices, in frank porfía, your songs are vain as are so beautiful, perhaps you do not know that the moon is cold, because it gave its blood for stars