A very cool Indian had his anafre on the sidewalk,
his comal, black and clean, fried tamales in lard;
and gorditas of dough, piloncillo and cinnamon,
when I left my house I was camping a fifth for the school
In the afternoon, to the streets, they took out tables, clean old ladies,
They sold us their custards, rice pudding in their cazuelitas,
rich capirotada, tecojotes con miel
and on the night a gruel so champurrado that there is no longer him.
(chorus)
These beautiful things, because I saw them so,
they are no longer in my land, they are no longer here
Today in my Mexico it is beautiful, as it never was,
but when I was a child my Mexico did not know what ...
Paved, its streets were quiet, beautiful and quiet;
the cries ripped the clean air: they came buckets,
land for pots, honey for marshmallows,
live chichicuilotes, mezcal in panca and mead.
As the soldiers passed by, people went out to look restless,
even the train of mulitas stopped listening to the trumpet,
the calenders stopped, only in faithful old man
who sold sugars improvised in verse that:
'Azucarillos de a medio real y de a real
for children who want to market. '
(chorus)
These beautiful things, because that's how I saw them,
I am not in my land, I am not here anymore.
Today my Mexico is beautiful, as it never was,
but when I was a kid I had my Mexico, I do not know what ...
Only among all we can make this a better place :)