Canto a Cuba

Watching my children grow
answering their questions
a country called Cuba
gets tangled up in my guitar.

How many children are growing
knowing where to go,
they have paths of struggle,
paths of freedom.
Instead, here they only have
pain in their loneliness.

The poor, to escape,
get into the booze,
forgetting they are human,
drinking to their fate.

The mother washes and washes
death is being made,
the son steals and steals
he's already given up to his fate.

Until when, comrade,
don't say there's a vote,
those you vote for rise up
and I'll sing you a song.

That's why when my son
starts to look at the sea
I tell him there's a country
that reigns in its vastness.
The queen is called Cuba,
for her, I sing.