Cazadores del desierto

Desert hunters,
voice of the black horses,
they were the first ones,
who gave their chests to war;
patrolling the salt flats,
the pampa inflamed their breath,
and in the charges of Dolores,
Germania and Negreiros,
death rode on the back,
of their horses so black.

"To the charge, hunters!",
cries the bugle call;
"My saber-wielding riders
for the Homeland until death!"
"Listen, Major Rodríguez,
where are the comrades?"
"Gallop, orderly Acosta.
Don't mind the dead!"

Desert hunters,
the squadron is over now:
in their horses so black,
a soldier and his Major;
drumming in the sands,
the black horses run.
The lances go without flags,
the sabers wound the sky:
there is no hope or sorrow
for that charge of specters!