Preludio de Giron

The air takes the form of a tornado
And in it are tied
Death and love.
A dark column rises
And the children tear away
The games in one go.
Grandma, your scissors are rural
And cut other evils
But not this wind.
Keep your prayer, old friend,
And invoke Peralejo,
That suits us better.

No one is going to die, not now
That this sacred woman frowns.
No one is going to die, life itself
Is a brief second of her dream.
No one is going to die, life itself
Is our talisman, our cloak.
No one is going to die, not now
That the song of the homeland is our song.

In front of the column, at the front,
Where the rifle's aim has always traveled,
Let the fertile aim speak,
That throat sends
My way of living.

With death, all certain things
Engraved a door
In the middle of April.
With the homeland has been drawn
The name of the soul of men
Who will not die.