Planta [English translation]

I knew the sap through my body

Like Acapulcan gold

I'm preparing myself

I don't know what's happening to me

That now I can't return

(On hearing... on hearing...)

So much leaving me through the branches

Now I go through the wounds

There was too little faith

Once a week

On hearing... on hearing...

My vegetative voice

Today I need my feet tied

In the air I know I'm nothing more than less

Of what I could be

I resist

Pushing you to another game of chance

In the air my voice's yearning reverberates

My vegetative voice

Vegetative

Vegetative love