Marca Borrada

Dreaming of returning, it was long, perhaps the absence
I walked through the longing, behind the fraternal
There in the carob grove, that leads me north

Walking I learned to walk, barefoot on the roads
The path of a pilgrim, singing I took in the end
Nostalgia for that place, that I carry with me

It's about to dawn, you can hear the birds singing
To the trill of the thrushes, the wind gives its power
The mountain proves to be, a singer like no other

The freshly watered courtyard, under the arbor
Violins as well as guitars and drums will sound
The party is about to begin, in an erased mark

I returned to see the Sun, rising from the riverbank
Dancing a chacarera, again by the hearth
Singing from the heart, under the tar

The Moon that shines brighter, and the sparkle of the stars
Is not found everywhere, the sky they must look at
I know there is no other like it, like that of my land

And everything I lived, on the banks of the Pilcomayo
Is embedded in my chest, a time when I was happy
I know my love for the homeland will not die

The freshly watered courtyard, under the arbor
Violins as well as guitars and drums will sound
The party is about to begin, in an erased mark