Old man, you hold your umbrella above your head,
It rains inside our hearts, make it stop, God!


Fluid seasons, restless time,
Why are you blowing, my wind?
Who crushes you, my little bug?

Armies in full collision, white and red,
Blood spilled over our faces,
We taste these sweet tears in fear,
If I was to cry a river of golden dreams.

My town would prosper over centuries,
My child with no vision,
My goat without milk,
My people without thinking,
Blown by thunderstorms and earthquakes.