From my beautiful land, from my holy land
I hear that cry of the drums
and the timbales when cumbanchar
and that proclamation that a brother sings
that from his land lives far away
and that the memory makes him cry
a song that lives singing
of his pain from his own crying
and he is heard to grieve.
The earth hurts you, the earth gives you
in the middle of the soul, when you are not
The earth pushes you from the root and lime
The earth sigh, if it does not see you anymore...
The land where you were born
you can forget it, because it has your roots
and what you leave behind.
They follow the pregones, the melancholy
and every night next to the moon
follow the güajiro singing the son.
and every street that goes to my town
he has a groan, he has a lament
He has nostalgia as his voice.
and that song that keeps on singing
it runs in the blood and keeps coming
with more strength to the heart ...
He has a groan ... my land
have a regret ... my land
I never forget it ... my land
I carry it in my feeling, yes sir
I hear that cry ... my land
live the memory ... my land
runs in my blood ... my land
I carry it inside as I do not
song of my beautiful and holy land
I suffer that pain that is in your soul
although I am far away I feel it
and one day back I know
Only among all we can make this a better place :)