Santuário de Xucros

So begins a surungo mixing smoke and dust
The bedroom door blocked and the women in a row
White, brown, and mulatto, married, widowed, and single
Crazy to scratch the itch in a vaneira limp

(And then a shout is heard: Folks, listen to me)
(Give the old folks a break and get off the girls)

Made of ash and termite the beaten floor of the room
Floor as good as no fancy one can match
Sanctuary of the tradition of the rough bagual race
Wattle-and-daub wall, bullet-riddled thatch

And so in a twist of the chin, a counterstep is danced
One that burns the skin on a scorching afternoon
And the crowd sticks together like a cucumber on the rope
Pushing the shoulders and shaking the spine

And when the Moon's eye comes to spy on me in this ranch
On the accordion, two lines, in a vaneira I rework
Root of Pampas heartwood, which on the trunk I cling to
On the back of the rough verse with care I hang

At midnight a polka from the ladies for the finale
To see who likes who and the verse makes the combat
Then they go to the kitchen to rest the backside
To eat mixed and hearty beans with mate tea