En El Tolima*

(Llanero Style)

I've only cried once,
quiet tears of an Indian;
it was in the hills of Tolima
when I threw my tiple in the river.

We were heading deep into the woods,
it was a night of danger.
No one smoke or talk,
it was a night of danger.

We walked in silence,
hearts turned to stone,
when the order came
like a double-edged knife:
Whoever carries a tiple,
throw your tiple in the river.

Maybe someone else has gone through
what I have lived:
To be a man of strong cause
and not fear danger.

I felt its cry in the stones
as it rolled down the abyss,
like it was asking for help
with its last sound.

The night grew twice as dark:
in the woods and inside me.
And I went deeper into the woods
and the tiple fell in the river.

Goodbye, faithful companion
of youth and love;
you'll have to understand:
it was a night of danger.

The enemy's shadow
bit at our heels.
You'll have to understand:
it was a night of danger.

I’m a man of strong cause,
I don’t fear danger,
but I went deeper into the woods
and the tiple fell in the river.

Tomorrow when dawn breaks
the farmers will hear
a new song in the water,
half song, half scream.

Broken wood on the stones,
a soul searching for a path.
It finds it, and goes singing
on the river's foam.