Palomo Del Comalito (La Molienda)

The beauty, the beautiful one of this land
Grinds corn, grinds corn dough
A miracle, a miracle from her hands
Yellow shine, yellow shine I see
In the clay pot, in the clay pot she carries gold
Golden land, golden tender corn
In the clay pot, in the clay pot she carries gold
Golden land, golden tender corn

My suffering is over, my suffering is over
No evil lasts a hundred years
Paloma, little dove, fly and tell her that I
That I kiss her hands here
Paloma, little dove, fly and tell her that I
That I kiss her hands here

Paloma, little dove, sing a miracle
From the smoke dough of this griddle
You who drank my tears
From grains, from grains of crystal
Paloma, little dove, sing a miracle
From the smoke dough of this griddle
You who drank my tears
From grains, from grains of crystal

And miracles, and miracles of this land
And women whose hands feed
The one who invites even if she has nothing
And fights for the things that are good
The one who invites even if she has nothing
And fights for the things that are good

Paloma, little dove, sing a miracle
From the smoke dough of this griddle
You who drank my tears
From grains, from grains of crystal
Paloma, little dove, sing a miracle
From the smoke dough of this griddle
You who drank my tears
From grains, from grains of crystal
From grains, from grains of crystal
From grains, from grains of crystal