Como Pajaros En El Aire
Mercedes Sosa
Like Birds in the Air
My mother's hands
Look like birds in the air
Kitchen stories
Between their wings, wounded by hunger
My mother's hands
Know what happens in the mornings
When she kneads life
Clay oven, bread of hope
My mother's hands
Arrive in the courtyard early
Everything turns into a party
When she plays with other birds
With the birds
Who love life
And build it with their work
Wood, flour, and clay burn
The everyday becomes magical
It becomes magical, oh-oh
My mother's hands
Represent to me an open sky
And a cherished memory
Warm rags in the winters
They offer themselves warmly
Noble, sincere, clean of everything
How will be the hands
Of the one who moves them
Thanks to hatred?
My mother's hands
Arrive in the courtyard early
Everything turns into a party
When they play with other birds
With the birds
Who love life
And build it with their work
Wood, flour, and clay burn
The everyday becomes magical
It becomes magical
