Baguala India

The paths sing, they sing
mountain folks of love.
Face to face with the little sky
chest open and in pain. (Repeat)

I am an Indian from this mountain
body and life of the land
and in the suns of the past
I carry warrior blood
warrior of the highlands
Don't rush my paths
for my jug breaks
in my fleeting dream.

I cry, I cry my sorrow
I don't want pity.
I shout, I shout from the depths
and my shout is already a song. (Repeat)