Hombre de América

Man of America, the song
that we sing because it's yours,
is like the fog
and also like despair.

Man of America, the song
that we sing because it's yours,
is like the fog
and also like despair.

Because the bitter rains
fill the air with weeping;
death covers our faces,
and life has turned into sarcasm.

I want your peaceful land.
I want your calm sky.
I want your fertile fields
and your deserts overflowing.

Man of the world, this song
that we sing because it's ours,
seeks a path and finds
only the shadow of a trace.

Trace of stained earth,
dust, ash, or a piece
of something that was a desire
now turned into exhaustion.