Dulce madera cantora

Sweet singing wood

Guitar, play guitar,
the air tastes like rosemary,
doves are brought to me by the wind
under the wing of my hat.
Tomorrow smells like sun,
American little guitar.
Some think that the crow
leaves its nest alone,
but the damn crow escapes
only when it's been hurt.
Tomorrow smells like sun,
American little guitar.
I wish to be the first
to hear your sound,
may your notes sound free
and everyone sing along.
Tomorrow smells like sun,
American little guitar.
Sweet singing wood
of the people's feelings,
announce the new day to me,
deliver us from worries.
Tomorrow smells like sun,
American little guitar.
Play!
Play!
Play!