Zambita Del Musiquero

In those nights in Manogasta
When the Moon wants to leave
The mountains steal the old zambitas
That old fiddlers used to play

I swear, drum, that if tomorrow
With the return God will pay us
The old ones will dance feeling happy
When I sing to my humble land with you

Zambita that brings songs from yesterday
Sowing arpeggios of harps
The vidalero sings, fiddlers play
So the woman from Manogasta won't escape

Sometimes I wonder: where did they go
The old zambas that I learned?
Those that my grandfather sang in Quechua
With a chorus of fireflies at dusk

If my light goes out on the paths
Don't think, land, that I won't return
With the sorrowful song of the mountain
I will walk through you arm in arm with the night