Seres de Barro y Miedo

They grow there, oh!... sad fate, their home is the cold, lifeless concrete,
In it they get lost, in it they feel, they’re people too,...
Stripped of hope, they smell of neglect,
A mix of skin and pain, they are,... mutilated angels.
Ignored men, beings of clay and fear,
Those who have never been,... Society!, they speak like a mirror.
Stripped of hope, they smell of neglect,
A mix of skin and pain, uh!...
They’ve had their wings clipped, violence and torment,
This system speaks like this, its gift is being blind,
Mutilated angels, winter flowers,
From a field that my nation has sown,
That indifferent, loses everything,
And little by little, just like its people,
I,... am the people!

Mutilated beings, they are men who smell of neglect,
With their rights denied, they’ve always been and will be,
Society!,... society,... society,... ah!