Por un puñado de tierra
La Frontera
For a Fistful of Dirt
Baldomero spurs on through cracks
falcons follow behind.
And behind the bars she trembles,
omens of something fatal.
Holy Mother, I swear on my Honor
that I will avenge her.
And if I break it, let the Final Judgment
fall upon me.
For a fistful of dirt.
For a fistful of love.
The knives cut through the air of the mountains
and chill the heart.
For a fistful of dirt.
For a fistful of love.
Young blood, sweat, watered the sand,
and a cry to the sky ascended.
A severe look, her silk sash reveals the dagger,
and another knife in the shadow in case there's a need to kill.
Shouts of a brawl in the inn, the guitar will remember
that the setting of this offense in the Alpujarra will be lost.
The rooster crowed twice.
The dawn does not want to look.
The weight of this oath
makes the earth tremble.
They collapse on the path
epaulets without a military sound.
Finally empty and tired,
Baldomero buried his dagger.
