Chamamé Que Se Eleva

At the bottom of the river
In the folds of the soul
In the hands that drag
Tireless journeys

In the quiet palm trees
On dirt roads
In the old neighbors
In the Sunday peace

In the barefoot siesta
Under the vines
There's a spirit that rocks
Its green accordion

In the riverside shack
Where children are born
And afternoons are cradled
With a duo of crickets

In the mouth that kisses
That glass of wine
And blooms into songs
Embraced by a friend

In the nights I wander
Through abysses of stars
A puff of bellows
Carries me through the air

In the light of the eyes
Of a dark-haired queen
In the drunken dream
Of one who dies of sorrow

In the worn-out squares
From loves that wait
In the crystal voice
Of trembling lips

In my parents sipping mate
With the radio to their ear
Chamamé that sighs
Hearts that take flight

North wind that brings
So much fire in the blood
I was born under the cloak
With which you wrap the air
Of this land that keeps
In its sonorous soul
The lament of drums
And flutes that cry

I carry you in my arms
With the scent of wood
Heart that sighs
Rising chamamé