Viva La Grasia

Long live grace, my love,
how much effort it costs me to write these words.
The destiny, the destiny of a time
already old separates us.
The destiny is the inertia of the noose that chokes,
the stone that buries and crushes,
of the hand that extinguishes the dawn
and never tires, of the voice that calls you in the night,
behind a door and pierces you
for a moment in the doubt of who one is.
When your light is missing,
it's not the same as the light of the moon,
the sun or the star,
I lack myself and I lack saliva in my mouth,
heart and teeth.
I exhaust hope and life
leads me to the border.
And here I see myself crossing the mountains of France,
while my land, my people, my home stay far away.
And my eyes with so much bitterness, that I am ashamed.
Chorus
This letter is not hatred,
it's of love that is written with everyone,
lived with everyone.
I understand this love
as a sensitive fist that moves mountains.
Companion, for whom the underprivileged suffered
the bitter paper of the one who lights the light in the shadow
and is seen so alone, facing the wind,
the lightning and thunder of the great storm,
facing time, the bolt,
silence and whatever may come.
Now I know that it's you who moves
the life of the tree in spring
what moves the voice of men
when men fight and die.
I don't want to end with sadness
or ice this bitter letter.
Now I know that the clouds rise
and I sing this song:
Through my mouth the flowers are already blooming
that were watered with tears in your loving womb
this town has impregnated you.
Chorus This is the song:
One, two! You have sun,
grace to live, wine,
beaches and flamenco...
yes, much grace to pour
through the vineyards of Roselló.
Long live the grace of Andalusia
with an emigration passport!