Yo, pecador

I, sinner, keep singing
one by one my sins.
I confess to the Almighty,
hoping to be forgiven.

I accuse myself of waiting
for justice to be done on earth,
that we are not made of clay
and not like today we are stone,
and not like today pure stone.

I also accuse myself, Lord,
of not having rebelled,
when they burned the body
of a black man on Good Friday,
of a black man on Good Friday.

I, sinner, keep singing.