The Jaguar
And they go, they go
The streams go
The Tacuarembó makes
With clear backwaters
Of full moon
In its walk
And the singer there
Is the Jaguar
In every trail
Mystery inside
His voice is heard
The January nights
Wounded by stars
Hurt me more
And an Indian sorrow
Weaves nostalgias
In Guaraní
And a song from yesterday
Returns to life
Mysterious forest
Sweet lament
Of the Yaraví
To an open fishing boat
Among the water hyacinths
They will arrive
Two or three countrymen
With sunken faces
In the darkness
And there they will embody
A dream of bread
And a liquid sky
Fishing stars
They will earn
The silence awakens
The hoarse squawk
Of the sunflower
Like a soul in pain
The lights wander
Of the caiporá
And it burns in the bonfire
Goblin and werewolf
Legend and stream
In the full moon
It will be reborn