Santiago Penando Estás

My chest is in mourning
For the death of love
In the gardens they cultivate
The flowers of betrayal
The gardener charges gold
As he sows resentment
That's why I'm crying

The little birds don't sing
They have nowhere to nest
They already cut the branches
Where they used to sing
Later they will cut the trunk
And put in its place
A latrine and a bar

The child frightens me
He's no longer that cherub
Yesterday he played ring-around-the-rosie
Today he plays with a rifle
There's no difference
Between a child and a constable
Soldiers and gunpowder

Where is the joy
Of yesterday's Calicanto
It's said that a president
Walked through it on foot
There was no abyss
Between the people and their master
Today's, I don't know who it is

Santiago of the nineteenth century
To be able to see you
I'll have to look at the notes
From the national archive
They crumbled your body
And your soul went rolling out
Santiago, haunting you