KULTRUN

Bring me son when I return
If going to the mountains
A dry lenga trunk
Of noble aged wood

I want to make a kultrun
Hollow and small box
Skin stretched with thongs
From some good horse leather

Kultrun, Kultrun
In the tahil of my race
In the beat of your complaint
I feel the voice of the machis
From the womb of the earth

Four ostrich legs
I want to paint on the leather
I will pray for the elder
And for the young of my town

As my race has done
From the depths of time
I feel my blood burning
When I dance the loncomeo