Cuando Me Acuerdo De Salta

When a painful cry is born
from the belly of some box
and the folk song becomes absence:
how I remember Salta!

If the afternoon is the color of lapacho
and there's a scent of zamba in the air
and the folk song is a dove:
how I remember Salta!

And if I am far away, I feel
that you are inside my soul
and my heart cries out,
when I sing this zamba to you.
And my heart cries out,
when I remember Salta.

When the green elf enters
through the mouths of the guitars
and the folk song turns into acullico:
how I remember Salta!

And if the wine is dawned,
through the braids of a baguala
and the folk song remains alone:
how I remember Salta!