Cançó de bressol [English translation]

Dew in the morning, warmth in the noon.

Mosquitoes in the evening. I don't want to be farmer.

And I who slept between your arms

with the mouth attached to your breast.

The love of a man already united us

before the winter morning when I was born.

The wind can't take away the memory of those times:

when you saved bread to give me butter.

Dew in the morning, warmth in the noon.

Mosquitoes in the evening. I don't want to be farmer.

Lullaby that then talked to me

of my grandfather who sleeps in the bottom of a cliff,

of a road full of dust, of a white cementery,

and of grape fields, of wheat and olives.

Of a virgin on a hill, of roads and shortcuts,

of all your brothers who were killed in the war.

Dew in the morning, warmth in the noon.

Mosquitoes in the evening. I don't want to be farmer.

You are daughter of the dry wind and a bony land.

Of a land you have never forgotten

despite the long way that made you walk

your brothers of blood, your brothers of tongue,

and you still want hearing blue tits

covered by the dust of that poor land.

Dew in the morning...