My always dearly beloved Violeta Parra:
I found your address from a cloud.
A guitar writes to you
that remembers you with devotion,
only to sing to you, yes,
how the issue is going.
Here below, marvels idle,
custom abandons piety.
The nightmare reigns
as supreme divinity.
Ego, fame, and money, yes,
holy trinity.
The fortunate one
turns a blind eye
and the vilified one
meat of the mob.
A kiss to Carmen Luisa,
fiancée of an archangel.
I love Chabela
and I salute the Angel.
Nets weave dreams for auctions;
foreign blood is a special effect.
Dignity wears out
like the philosopher's stone.
Profit and greed, yes,
form the management.
My dear Violeta, send me airmail,
voices of your universe in evolution,
to use your mystery
against the pharaoh's plagues,
so that they give me strength, yes,
and a good song.