The farmer of my village
carries a hoe in his hand
how big your hands are
the farmer of my village
digging from sun to sun
with rain, snow or heat.
The unemployed of my people
full of anguish his hands
how sad he has his hands
the unemployed of my people
circling the ferris wheel
without wages and without history.
The mayor of my town
he carries a cane in his hands
how fine your hands are
the mayor of my town
with his proud cane
presides over the procession.
The worker of my people
he is not in my town
He has emigrated,
his hands knead bread
for other distant towns,
how far are the hands
of the worker of my town.
The soldier of my town
before he was a bricklayer
now he does not have shovel
he has a rifle in his hand
how cold is his hands
around the rifle.
The cacique of my people
he does not live there either
with the sweat of my people
he bought a flat in Madrid
with what your hand pulls
how many could live
Soldier, if ever,
the farmer of my village
he gets up, and the worker
gets up, and the unemployed
What are you doing your soldier
that you were a bricklayer before?
What are you going to do with your hands
and your rifle.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)