My hand was a little pigeon
Beating its wings, broke the silence
Coming to the sky of that stage
The masquerade wrapped the breeze
Sowing breadcrumbs in songs
Their voices made the laughter grotesque
The beating of many pigeons
Turned into a warm wind
Happy of getting food
Then they left... silence remained
The murga was leaving the stage
And that wounded pigeon returned
His hand is a little pigeon
Beating its wings, breaking the silence
Coming to the sky of this stage
The masquerade wraps the breeze
Sowing breadcrumbs in songs
Their voices make the laughter grotesque
The beating of many pigeons
Turns into a warm wind
Happy if they get food
And they won't leave...there won't be silence
The murga won't leave the stage
And pigeon hands can stay today
Receive this warm embrace
The homage to your pigeon hand
To your hand willing to fly in applauses
Receive this warm wind
Pigeon hand of pigeon man
Of pigeon child, of pigeon mother, of pigeon grandparent
Of hands of brothers
Receive in the highest chant
The homage to your pigeon hand, your pigeon hand
Your pigeon hand, your hand always willing to give
To your pigeon hand, two pigeon hands, ten pigeon hands
Hundred pigeon hands, thousand pigeon hands, million hands
Million pigeon brothers