Zambrano Huascama

Zambrano huascama

This is the story of the man
Born in the mountains
He's not indigenous, not black, not mestizo, not anything
Zambrano huascama dresses in blue

His hands are rough
His face burnt
And all his dreams seem like nostalgia
Zambrano huascama, mixed race in blue
Who has told me look
Who has told me speak
Who has told me dream
Carry your guitar

Who has told me... look
Who has told me... speak
Who has told me dream
Carry your guitar

I know I'm a humble man but I enjoy every step
I know I don't make money
But I have joy to work
I know I can be foolish, also naive and react badly
But I'm a gentleman with a sweet demeanor when it comes to love

But I don't know where I should go
Where I should march
How can I be happy

But I don't know who I should meet
What I should dream
And who I should believe

This is the story of the man
Born in the mountains
Who breathes in the fields every morning
Zambrano huascama dresses in blue

His hands are rough
His face burnt
And all his dreams seem like nostalgia
Zambrano huascama, mixed race in blue
Who has told me look
Who has told me speak
Who has told me dream
Carry your guitar

Who has told me look... repeat
Who has told me speak... repeat
Who has told me dream
Carry your guitar

He has mixed blood
And he enjoys this quality
He sings his Sanjuanito and also merengue at the carnival
He doesn't know about the internet or good jobs like in the city
But he can distinguish the scent of every flower and woman alike

It makes me believe where I should go
Where I should march
How can I be happy

It makes me believe that a woman is waiting for me
Whom I should smile at
And care for like a carnation
...like a carnation...like a carnation