La Tumba Del Guerrillero

The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
His mother is asking
No one will answer him
The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
The people are asking
Someday he'll know
The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
His mother is asking
No one will answer him
The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
The people are asking
Someday he'll know

Guerrilla fighter, you rise in rivers
Mountains and meadows
In the wind that rocks the hammock
From the son of John
In the humble and rough hands of the food vendor
In the Milpa where the farmer
He searches and searches for bread
As the Trappist poet said
From Solentiname
They wouldn't tell us the place
Where are you?
And that's why your tomb is all
Our territory
In every inch of my Nicaragua
There you are

The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
His mother is asking
No one will answer him
The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
The people are asking
Someday he'll know

Guerrilla fighter, you are born again
In the carbine
In the bronchi of Peter the miner
He died in Siuna
In the eyes of the wretched in Acahualinca
They still wait, thirsty
The dawn of redemption
As the Trappist poet said
From Solentiname
They wouldn't tell us the place
Where are you?
And that's why your tomb is all
Our territory
In every inch of my Nicaragua
There you are

The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
His mother is asking
No one will answer him
The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
The people are asking
Someday he'll know
The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
His mother is asking
No one will answer him
The guerrilla fighter's tomb
Where, where, where is it
The people are asking
Someday he'll know