Según El Favor Del Viento

According to the favor of the wind
The woodcutter is sailing
Behind are the huts
To enter the port
Whether the wind blows south or north
The little boat groaning
I'm crying
Be it with hunger or with sleep
I'm leaving, I'm leaving

From the north comes the pellín
Coloring the deck
They will have to sell it in Castro
Even if the rain is pouring
It burns under the high sun
Like a doorless hell
I'm crying
Even if the sea is rough
I'm leaving, I'm leaving

In a corner of the boat
The kettle is boiling
Peeling potatoes on one side
The hands of some islander
Could it be the mother of the Indian,
The girlfriend or the companion?
I'm crying
Sailing full moons
I'm leaving, I'm leaving

The life of the Chilote is not easy
He has no letter or dispute
His feet carry Tamango
Milcao and chili in his body
Pellín to warm up
From the cold of the governments
I'm crying
His bones are breaking
I'm leaving, I'm leaving

Wake up, man, wake up
Wake up for a moment
Wake up the whole country
Before the heavens open
And the furious thunder comes
With the trumpet of Saint Peter
I'm crying
And sweep the ministries
I'm leaving, I'm leaving

I would like to die singing
On a woodcutter's boat
And cultivate in its waters
A more just book
With golden letters saying
There is no father for the islander
I'm crying
Nor wind for his woodcutter
I'm leaving, I'm leaving