Zambita Del Musiquero

On those nights in Manogasta
When the Moon wants to take off
They steal the old zambas from the hills
That old fiddlers used to play

I swear, drum, that if tomorrow
With the return, God pays us back
The old folks will dance feeling like kids
When I sing to my humble town with you

Zambita, you bring songs from the past
Sowing sweet notes from harps
The vidalero sings, let the musicians play
So the Manogasteña won’t slip away

Sometimes I wonder: where did they go
The old zambas I used to learn?
Those that my grandpa sang in Quechua
With a chorus of crickets at dusk

If my light fades on the paths
Don’t think, land, that I won’t return
Along with the pained song of the hills
Arm in arm with the night, I’ll remember you