Extremadura

Extremadura,
countryside of wounded bulls
that don't bellow.
Will they hide
the moan
from their throats?
Extremadura,
men who pray to God
to make it rain.
but who assures them
the harvest?
Extremadura,
solitude filled with holm oaks
over fields with paths,
why did the men
leave their lands?
Extremadura,
land of conquerors
that barely gave you anything.
Oh, my bitter
Extremadura
Oh, my bitter
Extremadura
rise up and walk.