La Catamarqueña

If I leave, I will return
Made shadow hurt again
The earth inside me burns from singing it so much
And my mouth wants to bloom
I know it will see me
A man alone feeling like crying
Because Catamarca
Grows in my blood
Like the river grows from the sandy shore

Weaver from Belén, loom in bloom
She spins with threads of Moon the sorrow with the song
I drink water of forgetfulness from her hands
Burned by the fire of my heart

A man who, by walking, fills with his soul with his loneliness
Feels Catamarca and its old stubble
He sings it, names it to avoid crying

My Belén, there is no goodbye, it's the time of blue grape harvest
Wherever I go, my zamba follows me
And in its little handkerchief a walnut tree blooms

Weaver from Belén, loom in bloom
She spins with threads of Moon the sorrow with the song
I drink water of forgetfulness from her hands
Burned by the fire of my heart