Cantares
Todo pasa y todo queda
Pero lo nuestro es pasar
Pasar haciendo caminos
Caminos sobre la mar
Nunca persegui la gloria
Y dejar en la memoria
De los hombres mi cansion
Vamos los mundos humildes
Ingrabidos y gentiles
Como bombas de jabon
Me gusta verlos pintarse
De soligrana al volar
Bajo el cielo azul temblar
Subitamente y quebrarse
Nunca persegui la gloria
Caminante son tus guellas
En el camino y nada mas
Caminante no hay camino
Se hace camino hal andar
Hal andar se hace camino y al mover la vista atras
Se ve la senda que nunca se a devolver a pisar
Caminante no hay camino
Si no estelas en la mar
Asi algun tiempo en ese lugar
Donde hoy los bosques se visten vestidos
Se oyo la voz de un poeta gritar
Caminante no hay camino
Se hace camino hal andar
Golpe a golpe
Verso a verso
Murio el poeta lejos del hogar
Le cubre el polvo de un pais vecino
Al alejarse le vieron llorar
Caminante no hay camino
Se hace camino hal andar
Golpe a golpe
Verso a verso
Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar
Cuando el poeta es un peregrino
Cuando denada nos sirve rezar
Caminante no hay camino
Se hace camino hal andar
Golpe agolpe verso a verso
Golpe a golpe verso a verso
Golpe a golpe verso a verso
Songs
Everything passes and everything remains
But ours is to pass
To pass by making paths
Paths over the sea
I never pursued glory
And to leave in the memory
Of men my song
Let's go, humble worlds
Ungrateful and gentle
Like soap bubbles
I like to see them paint themselves
With sunlight as they fly
Under the trembling blue sky
Suddenly and break
I never pursued glory
Traveler, your footprints are
On the road and nothing more
Traveler, there is no road
The road is made by walking
By walking, the road is made and by looking back
You see the path that will never be stepped on again
Traveler, there is no road
Only wakes in the sea
So at some time in that place
Where today the forests dress in clothes
The voice of a poet was heard shouting
Traveler, there is no road
The road is made by walking
Blow by blow
Verse by verse
The poet died far from home
Covered by the dust of a neighboring country
As he walked away, they saw him cry
Traveler, there is no road
The road is made by walking
Blow by blow
Verse by verse
When the goldfinch cannot sing
When the poet is a pilgrim
When praying is of no use
Traveler, there is no road
The road is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
Blow by blow, verse by verse
Blow by blow, verse by verse