Los Entierros

Family!
The burials of my poor people
Are a true spectacle,
Feeling you!

In the burials
Of my poor people
The flowers are made of paper,
The tears are real.

Because like in other
Funerals of life
Where the crying is fake
And there are many real flowers.

What more perfume than the heartfelt tear
That identifies the suffering of the people
Because the flowers wither tomorrow
And the cemetery is an indifferent oblivion.

My poor people always return to the holy ground
Planting a flower of tears with love and will
The poppies of true affection
Are the greatest tribute of my people from the slums.

Chorus:
In the burials of my poor people
When we cry, it's because we truly feel.

Here there's no indifference
When we lose a friend
It's heartfelt affection,
But we give it with integrity.

I ask you, I ask
What good is a million to you
When you die, they cry for you falsely,
Lies, lies from that crybaby.

It's just a show
Of tremendous affection
The burials of my poor people
Laugh and cry like a child.

In the night of the wake
Between coffee and cookies
About what the deceased lived
But we tell beautiful things.

But that's why I stay
With my poor people
Simple paper flower
And much true love.

And on this final journey
On the way to the holy ground
To that soulmate friend
Rumbero! We accompany him singing.

The burials of the rich
Are resolved by a will
But that of my poor people,
Hey! Overflowing with feeling