El Arriero Va
Los Chalchaleros
The Muleteer Goes
In the sands the whirlwinds dance,
the sun plays in the brightness of the stony ground,
and, enchanted by the magic of the roads,
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.
His poncho in the wind is a flag of mist,
greeted by the flutes of the grasslands,
and, bravely walking the path through those hills,
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.
The sorrows and the little cows
go down the same path,
the sorrows and the little cows
go down the same path.
The sorrows are ours,
the little cows belong to others,
the sorrows are ours,
the little cows belong to others.
A slaughter of suns shows the evening,
the lights of the stony ground have fallen asleep,
and, encouraging the troop incessantly,
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.
May the night bring memories
that make the loneliness less heavy,
like a shadow within the shadow through those hills
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.
The sorrows and the little cows...
