Cuando mataron a Lorca

When they killed Lorca,
-because they killed Lorca-,
the cop was bothering a girl
like he was riding a horse.

When they killed Lorca,
-because they killed Lorca-,
his fellow countrymen
forgot neither the bowl nor the spoon.

-Fucked up assassins,
Carmen dressed to the nines
hugged the living
because she wouldn’t sleep with a dead man.

A well-known gypsy
was wandering through the shacks,
she felt sorrow for Lorca
because the luck of the dead never ends.

Life remained just life,
and the grimaces of the heretic,
and the pigs in their yellow mud
and behind the bodice, the rose.

-Youth, old age,
and the beggars and the lords,
all stayed in the ground,
only Lorca didn’t stay.

On a dusty shelf
keeping each other company,
not believing in Lorca’s death,
the soldiers, Don Quixote.

Let the ignorant
and the false fortune-tellers keep ruling,
but you live with the hope
of the Hidalgo's toys.

-In the midst of the souvenirs of the underworld,
bitterness rising,
mixed pieces of swords shouted:
Where are you, Lorca?

Neither the willow nor the elm
ever overlooked you
because you’re as immortal
as one of us, like a Don Quixote.

And the herbs of the wheat sang
and the thrushes trumpeted
that they didn’t kill Lorca
when they killed Lorca.