Piel De Rancho

The fortune of my land
has a price and doesn't have it
its currency, only its singing.

The vidalas and soulful mules
twisting give their mystery,
through the patches climbs the illusion.

Perhaps it sings in its misfortune
perhaps it sings in its hope
its throat, dream, and salt flat.

The swift ones are waking up
and the hills burst into a salamanca
they have given birth to the chacareras.

You are rain from the countryside
ranch skin, sky and earth
light that scents through the loneliness.

With the wings of an orpila
tear apart your old sky
for your verses I will pour rivers.

Wild shout of the Salado
flame of the Yalaco
violinist they will sponsor you.