Debe Ser El Chacoli
Alberto Cortez
It Must Be the Chacoli
It must be the chacoli
That got tangled in your throat
Or the constant crashing
Of the sea against the mountain.
Your raw, angry voice
Passed from night to dawn
To warm itself in the heat
Of all your Basque land.
Your childhood climbed up
On the back of a guitar
And you taught it to drink
The light, the salt, and the magic
Of the wild northern sea
That only accepts the boat
Coupled with men
Who fear nothing at all.
It must be the chacoli
That got tangled in your throat
Or the constant crashing
Of the sea against the mountain.
Dawn landed
In its port, the morning;
A maiden turned into a song
When your words burst forth.
And it slowly rose
And grew wings
And took flight in the space
Where only spirits used to fly.
Let me feel you
Brother in every way
In these open doors
Wide open in my soul.
Surely the chacoli
Got tangled in your throat
And the constant crashing
Of the sea against the mountain.
It must be the chacoli
That got tangled in your throat
Or the constant crashing
Of the sea against the mountain.
Your raw, angry voice
Passed from night to dawn
To warm itself in the heat
Of all your Basque land.
Your childhood climbed up
On the back of a guitar
And you taught it to drink
The light, the salt, and the magic
Of the wild northern sea
That only accepts the boat
Coupled with men
Who fear nothing at all.
It must be the chacoli
That got tangled in your throat
Or the constant crashing
Of the sea against the mountain.
Dawn landed
In its port, the morning;
A maiden turned into a song
When your words burst forth.
And it slowly rose
And grew wings
And took flight in the space
Where only spirits used to fly.
Let me feel you
Brother in every way
In these open doors
Wide open in my soul.
Surely the chacoli
Got tangled in your throat
And the constant crashing
Of the sea against the mountain.
