La Plañidera
Los Huayra
The Mourner
On the back of the mountain
Weaving the night, my folk song cries
Moon and fire birds
Swollen with jume on clouds sing
Like the wind
That kisses my sorrows cutting the branches
Clod of my sweet land
My dark-skinned kids cradle and sing
Color of salty siestas
Of loggers and sawmills undressing afternoons
With the soul of a folk dance
At the end of the mountains cardon, salamanca
Like the scream
Of the mourning woman, song of my race
Dam where the lament
The anguish and sorrow are washed and embraced
If the ashes are from firewood
I want to be leather, root of folk song
If the jug is made of clay
I want to be a chayuero dream that sings
Folk song of my nights
Lost star inside my soul
I want the river of my land
Winding days of bread and hopes
Like the scream
Of the mourning woman, song of my race
Folk song of my nights
Lost star inside my soul
