If wine comes, life comes:
I come to your vineyard, beloved land.
I want to die singing
under your ripe vine
and to be buried at the dawn
my grave watered of wine.
If wine comes, life comes:
I come to your vineyard, beloved land.
I'd like to leave my bones
under the Mendoza sky,
for my blood and my ashes
return in the wine way
How sad must be dying
and never returning,
but life is so beautiful,
but the way is so stunning,
that if I die someday
bury me in Mendoza,
in San Juan, there at La Rioja,
in the beautiful Cayafate,
that I'll return as wine!
And when the vines cry
for the men to laugh,
I'll be filling the glasses,
and I'll be kissing the mouths
of the old partners
or maybe the one I love
and couldn't love me..
and in a party night
when you take the guitar
if you see the wine crying
let it cry its sorrow
that a brown tear
as never I'll be singing!
Life is a bitter wine,
sweet in a shared jar:
those who swim inside
drown only in life.
If wine comes, life comes:
I come to your vineyard, beloved land.