Los Sobrevivientes
Charly García
The Survivors
We are blind to see,
Tired of so much walking.
We are fed up with fleeing
In the city.
We will never have roots,
We will never have a home,
And yet you see:
We are from here.
We vibrate like the bells,
Like churches approaching from the south,
Like black dresses wanting to undress.
I have always carried you
Under my blue scarf,
Through the streets like Christ to the cross.
