Campo Amarillo
La Maravillosa Orquesta Del Alcohol
Yellow Field
It rains in the only hell with ice
In Antonio Machado's yellow field
Solitudes and winds pulling the cart
In the land that matters least to the government
Don't look for gold here if the sky doesn't give it
Spring of cherry trees and cereal
Walking without fear towards the world's fear
Down the mountain flows a stream that never reaches the sea
They want to make a fortune at our expense
Without knowing, without knowing
That the Castilian fields
Easily burn in summer
Young people emigrating from the past
Systole diastole of bitter end
Blacksmith's house, wooden knife
Being an immigrant in your own country
Blood on the hands of our grandparents
How little the winter matters to its owner
The villages are becoming empty
The children are losing their dreams
They want to make a fortune at our expense
Without knowing, without knowing
That the most honest fields
Are the most tired
That the most honest fields
Are the most prepared
That the Castilian fields
Easily burn in summer
