Pájaro Lluvia

Sometimes I bring distant messages.
Messages from barefoot men
and sometimes I bring messages of magic,
burials, customs, the race.

And a handful of memory,
that hurts and remains,
for every cry under the earth.
For every puddle of blood and spear.
Rain Bird, nothing has been left.

And sometimes I sing a lumberjack song,
that smells like a puddle.
Shout and collapse in the quebrachos,
man sweating.
Others' sweat every day in miseries.
A whole life, grass and tobacco, chopping sorrows.

And a handful of memory,
that hurts and remains,
for every cry under the earth.
For every puddle of blood and axe.
Rain Bird, where there are mornings.

And sometimes I cry, a child's song
little skin and bone.
Mother's song, white handkerchief, deserted child.
Always the same ones are the ones who suffer, the same villages.
The same story, the forgotten.
Shadows of time.

And a handful of songs,
that hurt and remain in the throat of our land.
Every seed of bitter life, will be someday.
Rain Bird...
Fire and heart... in the storm

Until the day Every seed of bitter life,
Rain Bird... will be someday.
Fire and heart... in the storm