A Usted, Señor, Me Dirijo

To you sir, I address
Who was born on this land,
To you legitimate son of a bitch and Chilean dog.
To you who takes pride in being the great jailer,
Being the great traitor, great traitor and liar.
To you with hands stained with human blood,
To you whose life and soul are condemned.

Why are you so afraid
That the people are in the streets,
Laughing, marching,
Shouting, singing?

To you who guards the treasure of your industrial masters,
To you who is a specialist in infernal tortures,
To you who seeks glory through so much death,
To you who wants to stop the march of history,
To you who will be after our final victory
A wretched memory of decay and filth.
To you who is aware of your imminent defeat
Who knows that if not today, it could well be tomorrow.