Pedro came carrying the morning
Thinking of La Juana for the nap
He had in his hands
Monday's wheat
And a love as pure as the earth
He had in his hands
Monday's wheat
And a love as pure as the earth
He savored a mate tea as long as the wind
My country is the south, said Pedro
I am a farmer from someone else's field
My feet are like the old road
I am a farmer from someone else's field
My feet are like the old road
Pedro plow, Pedro earth, Pedro of La Juana
Pedro of the guitar
Pedro nobody
Pedro Pedro
Pedro of the guitar
Pedro nobody
Pedro Pedro
Pedro drank wine, head bent
with deep eyes Pedro told
of La Juana, of the farm, of the plow of misery
of La Juana, of the farm, of the plow of misery
Pedro plow, Pedro earth, Pedro of La Juana
Pedro of the guitar
Pedro nobody
Pedro Pedro
Pedro of the guitar
Pedro nobody
Pedro Pedro