Calagualero

So, at dusk, in the mines, they are often seen passing by. They go like the washerwomen, with a big bundle on top of their heads. They are the calagualeros. They come from the mountains. Without a dog or a whistle, watching out for the rancher and the cat's claw, they reach the roughest ravines, where the viper and the yellow thorn are. There is the calaguala.
In a damp sack, tied with some envira ropes, they arrange it. That wild fern that never blooms, ends up hiding its green among the village flowers.

In the deepest part of the hill,
There I will look for you,
Where the shadow entwines
With the deadly crucera.

Calaguala, calaguala,
Where did you come to be born!

You have to crawl up,
Just like the armadillo,
Because the rancher's eye
Is worse than the cross thorn.

Calaguala, calaguala,
Where did you come to be born!

I search for you in the ravines
Avoiding the ñapindá,
Greeting the arueras,
There I will look for you.

Tied with envira
I carry you to return,
And among the village flowers
They may hardly notice you.

Calaguala, calaguala,
Where did you come to stay!