Rogaciano

The Huasteca is in mourning
Its huapanguero has passed away
We no longer hear that falsetto
That is the soul of the troubadour

His name was Rogaciano
Rogaciano the huapanguero
And it was the sounds of the mountains
The songs of the troubadour

La Azucena and La Cecilia
Cry, cry inconsolably
Malaguena salerosa
Their town crier has left

The canal is ready
Today the milling begins
The sugar mill is in mourning
And sighs with each turn

Through the green coffee fields
Beyond that pasture
Some say that at night
The huapanguero appears

La Azucena and La Cecilia
Cry, cry inconsolably
Malaguena salerosa
Their town crier has left