Cruzando Por La Ciudad

Harvest without brokenness
Lost in the city
Your box punishes the air
Hurts your loneliness

Tilcara, stayed in the valley
And the sky fell into the sea
Your serious gesture of stone
Alone your carnival

Far away the root, the reeds whistle
Musicians of April
And America is in your blood
Grown with a song
Of wild horsehair braids
Of kisses of fruity skin
Of proud fierceness of the Andes
And suns of stony ground

And oh, cholita, there
How high and how dark
Skyscrapers with their gray
Reveal your voice of nobody
Your voice, wild bud

Streets, nothing more
The Aymara whistles with the quena from the highlands
And with the stubbornness of the poncho
Crossing through the city
You use your eyes so dark
That your hair, already uncombed
Was putting its stone bows
On the loneliness

And oh, my little cholita
Guardian of the miraculous treasure you carry
Washing your face with water
Crossing through the city
Crossing through the city
Crossing through the city