Los pobres no tienen patria
Los Muertos de Cristo
The Poor Have No Homeland
Century after century,
Of hatred and harsh persecution is the struggle,
That breaks the hearts,
Of men and women,
Who have to emigrate,
Suffering souls,
In search of a home.
Foreigners
In the land,
Who work
From sunup to sundown,
Slaves of
A paradise,
That is as false
As god.
Misery chokes you,
Hunger kills you,
Wherever you go,
The poor have no homeland.
And the wars
Who makes them?,
And to their graves
Who goes?,
Are they perhaps
The rich?,
For whom
You will die?
I don't believe in flags,
That defend your nation,
I don't believe in borders
That divide reason.
I want to be free,
Like the waves of the sea,
Mix my red blood,
Like everyone else's.
Misery chokes you,
Hunger kills you,
Wherever you go,
The poor have no homeland.
