Cencerro

(I have a feeling in my chest they call a heart)
(It's like a gaucho cowbell with a singing clapper)

When the morning is beautiful
Its voice sounds happy
And it even becomes mischievous
Like a playful colt

(But sometimes it happens that winter is rainy)
(And the little cowbell at night has a sad tone)

Sometimes like a little breeze
Similar to an illusion
It comes and pulls out a sound
And he thinks the Sun has risen

I have to scold him
To make him see reason
But as he is very cunning
He wins the argument

Oh, if only I could
Leave him in some corner
But he's inside my chest
And without him, I am not me