Sixteen years and still I weep and wish that I had died that day.
I’ve grow weary in my step, but I cannot turn away.
Every year I light a candle on the day that he was born
For the life he never tasted, for his children never come.
I’ve grown weary, I’ve grown old, but I’ll never be at rest
Till the murder that you did is paid for with the last drop of blood.
Go live in an empty room and study the wallpaper.
No wife, no child in that home.
Let your solitude frighten your neighbor.
And write in your book with your cunning prisoner’s hand
How arrogant you were, how ordinary as the sand.
Then burrow down deep as thing mole; blind till your release.
But neither pardon nor parole will ever bring you peace.
Heal, heal in prayer
Scent of desert flowers in the air
To deliver our salvation
With its promise in the morning of creation.
Por tu estas salvacion
Por tu estas salvacion.