La Tumba Del Guerrillero

The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
His mother is asking
No one will answer her
The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
The people are asking
Someday they'll know
The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
His mother is asking
No one will answer her
The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
The people are asking
Someday they'll know

Guerrilla, you rise in rivers
Mountains and plains
In the wind that rocks the hammock
Of Juan's son
In humble hands
In the Milpa where the farmer
Searches and searches for bread
As the Trappist poet said
From Solentiname
They didn’t want to tell us the place
Where you are found
And that’s why your grave is all
Our territory
In every inch of my Nicaragua
There you are

The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
His mother is asking
No one will answer her
The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
The people are asking
Someday they'll know

Guerrilla, you are born again
In the rifle
In the lungs of Pedro the miner
Who died in Siuna
In the eyes of the poor who in Acahualinca
Still wait thirsty
For the dawn of redemption
As the Trappist poet said
From Solentiname
They didn’t want to tell us the place
Where you are found
And that’s why your grave is all
Our territory
In every inch of my Nicaragua
There you are

The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
His mother is asking
No one will answer her
The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
The people are asking
Someday they'll know
The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
His mother is asking
No one will answer her
The guerrilla's grave
Where, where, where is it?
The people are asking
Someday they'll know