Dios Te Salve Mi Hijo
El pueblito estaba lleno, de personas forasteras
Los caudillos desplegaban lo más rudo de su acción
Arengando a los paisanos, de ganar las elecciones
Por la plata, por la tumba, por el voto o el facón
Y al instante que cruzaban desfilando los contrarios
Un paisano gritó ¡viva! Y al caudillo mencionó
Y los otros respondieron, sepultando sus puñales
En el cuerpo valeroso del paisano que gritó
Un viejito lentamente, se quitó el sombrero negro
Estiró las piernas tibias del paisano que cayó
Lo besó con toda su alma, puso un Cristo entre sus dedos
Y goteando lagrimones, entre dientes, murmuró
Pobre m’hijo quién diría que por noble y por valiente
Pagaría con su vida el sostén de una opinión
Por no hacerme caso, m’hijo: Se lo dije tantas veces
No haga juicio a los discursos del Doctor ni del patrón
Hace frío, ¿verdad, m’hijo? (Ya se está poniendo oscuro)
Tápese con este poncho y pa’ siempre llévelo
Es el mesmo poncho pampa, que en su cuna cuando chico
Muchas veces, hijo mío, muchas veces lo tapó
Yo, vía dir al campo santo, y a la par de su agüelita
Con su daga y con mis uñas una fosa voy a abrir
Y a su pobre madrecita, a su pobre madrecita
Le dirá que usted se ha ido, que muy pronto va a venir
A las doce de la noche, llegó el viejo a su ranchito
Y con mucho disimulo a su vieja acarició
Y le dijo tiernamente: Su cachorro se ha ido lejos
Se arregló con una tropa, ¡le di el poncho y me besó!
Y aura vieja por las dudas, como el viaje es algo largo
Priéndale unas cuantas velas, por si acaso nada más
Arrodíllese y le reza pa’ que Dios no lo abandone
Y suplique por las almas que precisan luz y paz
God Save You My Son
The town was full of foreign people
The leaders deployed the most brutal of their actions
Encouraging the countrymen, if they win the elections
For the money, for the grave, for the vote or the knife
And the moment the opponents were marching across
A countryman shouted "Long live!" and mentioned the leader
And the others responded, burying their daggers
In the brave body of the countryman who shouted
An old man slowly took off his black hat
He stretched the warm legs of the countryman who fell
He kissed him with all his soul, he put a Christ between his fingers
And dripping tears, between his teeth, he murmured
Poor my son, who would say that he is noble and brave?
He would pay with his life to support an opinion
For not listening to me, my son: I told you so many times
Do not judge the speeches of the Doctor or the boss
It's cold, isn't it, my son? (It's getting dark now)
Cover yourself with this poncho and carry it with you forever
It is the same poncho pampa, that in his cradle when he was a child
Many times, my son, many times he covered it up
I, on my way to the cemetery, and next to her grandmother
With his dagger and with my nails I will open a grave
And to his poor little mother, to his poor little mother
He will tell you that you have left, that he will come back very soon
At twelve o'clock at night, the old man arrived at his little ranch
And very discreetly he caressed his old woman
And he said to her tenderly: Your puppy has gone far away
He made up with a troop, I gave him the poncho and he kissed me!
And bring an old aura just in case, as the trip is a bit long
Light a few candles, just in case
Kneel down and pray that God does not abandon you
And pray for the souls who need light and peace