Ma'am, they say that where,
my mother says, they said,
the water and the wind say
that they saw the guerrilla.
It can be a bishop,
it can and it cannot,
it can be just the wind
Above the snow:
above the snow, ah yes,
Mother, don't you look,
galloping along comes
Manuel Rodríguez.
Now comes the guerrilla
through the estuary.
Leaving Melipilla,
running through Talagante,
crossing through San Fernando,
arriving at dawn in Pomaire.
Passing through Rancagua,
through San Rosendo,
through Cauquenes, through Chena
through Nacimiento:
through Nacimiento, ah yes,
from Chiñigüe,
from every place comes
Manuel Rodríguez.
Pass him this carnation,
we go with him.
The guitars are kept silent,
because the homeland is in mourning
Our land grows dark.
They killed the guerrilla.
In Til Til they killed him,
the assassins,
his back is bleeding
on the road:
on the road, ah yes,
who would have thought,
he, who was our blood,
our happiness.
The land is crying.
We will be silent.