Preludio de Girón [English translation]

The air becomes a tornado

and it death and love go tied.

A dark column rises

and the children tear

their games away with a pull.

Grandmothr, your scissors are rural

and cut other evils

but not this wind.

Keep your prayer, old friend,

and invoke Peralejo

who should suit us better.

Noone will die, even less now,

that this holy woman bows her frown.

Noone will die, life as a whole

is a brief second of its dream.

Noone will die, life as a whole

is our talisman, is our cloak.

Noone will die, even less now,

that the song of our homeland is our song.

In front of the column, in the front,

where the barrell of the gun has always traveled,

may the fertile aim talk

that this throat sends

my form of living.

With death all certain things

engraved a door

in the centre of April.

With homeland the name of the souls of the men who will not die

was painted.