Elegía Combativa [English translation]

I'm not twenty years old,

oh, if only I were!

what great freedom,

would grow from my bones!

I'm not twenty years old,

oh, if only I were!

to open with my fists

the doors that close on us.

A black and dull fear,

runs through blind streets,

the bread takes like sorrow,

the salt and water like grief.

Because it seems, my friends

that I'm now carrying

a heavy coffin,

a darkened hope.

Someone cried out in the night,

someone fell on the ground,

someone came to know the cold

craft of killing.

And parents keep quiet,

at the cry of the beasts;

and no one opens their mouth,

their consciences remorseful.

Oh, fatherland of misfortune!

you know that you are chained,

the bread tastes like blood to us,

the blood knows of the grief.

Because it seems, my friends

that I'm now carrying

a heavy coffin,

a darkened hope.

I'm not twenty years old,

oh, if only I were!

what great freedom,

would grow from my bones!