El Cantador

He was born under a fig tree
His mother was a fine mare
They called him La Catrina
The colt was called 'The Singer.'

He was a colt with more spirit
Than any other horse
And as I made him mine
He turned out to be a great runner.

My horse was beautiful
He was my most loyal friend
As fast as lightning
He was of very good stock.

When he was under false rein
He outpaced his mother
Soon he left his father behind
Winning by two lengths.

He had a dark coat
Rosy white like a star
Very showy and spirited
And beautiful at heart.

My horse was beautiful...

He was born under a fig tree
And in the pasture he stayed
What a pity that he died
My best companion.

That's why when the sun dies
And the moon rises
I go to that pasture
To relive my memories.

My horse was beautiful...