La Carreta

Rolling through the plains
Goes the wagon at a slow pace;
Old wagon that endures the elements
Winter rain, summer sun.
With a dull cigarette in his mouth
The wagon driver moves along,
And now and then he taps
The alert nail of the prod.
The heavy, gentle yoke...
Meanwhile, vibrant, he sends this song into the wind:

Where you going, swallow?
Where you going, hummingbird?
If you see my girl
Tell her of my love...
My oxen move at a steady pace
And my overo is a softie;
To make her fly to my ranch
I’ll give you my heart.
The singing wagon driver
Fades into the distance,
With a carnation in his ear
And a short cigarette.
The weary wagon,
With its broken sound,
With its swallow ox
And its hummingbird ox...

My life is the wagon,
That through so many bumps of bad luck
Keeps stumbling toward death.
I, the driver who doesn’t hold back,
Cross the lands of my fate
Alongside the tracks of my wagon
And I sing my way...
I’ve suffered so much that I’m a veteran!
And with the pace of the sturdy ox
Happy or sad, I always have a song...