Lead bay the favour of the wind
The woodcutter is sailing
Left behind are the baracks
To get into the port
If he goes south or north
The boat goes groaning, I'm crying
If I'm hungry or tired, I leave, I leave
The Pellin-fish comes from the north
Colouring in secret
They'll have to sell him in Castro
Although the rain may be open
Or the sun may burn from above
Like a hell without doors, I'm crying
Or the sea may be in trouble, I leave, I leave
In one corner of the ship
The tar is boiling
At one side peeling potatoes
Are the hands of some island girl
She could be the Indians mother
His sister or his companion
I'm crying when sailing entire moons
I leave, I leave
It's not the life of a man from Chiloe
He's got no letters nor courts
He's got tamango sandals on his feet
Milcao-fish and chilli in his body
Pellin-fish to make him warm
Against the cold of the governments
I'm crying
As they're breaking
His bones, I leave, I leave
Wake up, man, wake up
Wake up for just a moment
Wake up all my country
Before the skys open up
And the furious thunder comes down
With the trumpet of Saint Peter
I'm crying and wipe clean the
Ministeries, I leave, I leave
I'd like to die singing
On a woodcutter's boat
And to cultivate in his waters
A book more just
With letters of gold which say
There's no home for the island people
I'm crying, not even wind for
His woodcutters, I leave, I leave