To sing I was born I am a couplet that the wind carries
sometimes I sing in the tree that is stripped of shame
sometimes I drink from the fire
spring words
My blood sings from within
like the rain outside
the night sings and converts
their birds in stars
but when the town sings
music my veins
I never look at the rose
by its chimera color
I look at her because she has
to the blood of those who dream
because in their segments they bloom
the hands of the sowing
If the song does not rise
Like the bonfire of fire
if it does not release the penalties
of those who are on earth
nothing works
the voice of the chacarera.
As sing the ro
when the night blinds him
and without looking his way
follow your stone course
I sing to those who come
walking the earth.
My copla is blue and stars
and a lit guitar
in its heart of town
life suffers and shakes
with the profile of his drums
the withered hopes.
That's why I sing to things
that is giving me life
to the clay changuitos
winding lost moons
to the stem with its thorns
and the man with his wounds
If the song does not rise
Like the bonfire of fire
if it does not release the penalties
of those who are on earth
nothing works
the voice of the chacarera.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)