Canto De Tierra Seca

My lineage knows a bit
of stews, of gazpachos and of sun,
of prickly pears, of tantrums,
they have filled the ditches with sweat,
and is it any less beautiful
the wing of the butterfly if the sun clouds over?,
I don't think so...
don't you see that she doesn't care?
she has her beauty in her color,
in her color...

they have painted their destinies colorful,
like the gray of my lung,
they have drunk from the disdain,
from the cramp that hunger gives to the heart,
perhaps the skin that dresses the rose
is less rough if the sun clouds over?,
I don't think so...
don't you see that she doesn't care?
she has her bitterness in her color,
in her color...

what can I know?,
just wounded ink, I am a backstreet verse,
that my gossip is your gossip today,
my sallow sky, I take it, wrap it and give it to you,
that my gossip is your gossip,

my breed keeps burning,
melting even the toughest winter,
what does it matter if it sheds,
if the morning is in heat on its balcony,
perhaps this capricious life
will be less painful if the sun clouds over?,
I don't think so...
don't you see that she doesn't care?,
she has her madness in her color,
in her color...

let's sink,
for doubts live in the heights,
that our cradle
was not made of foam or pure water