I firmly tighten my hand
And I sink the plow into the earth
I have been in it for years
How can I not be exhausted?
Butterflies fly, crickets sing,
My skin turns black
And the sun shines, shines, shines.
The sweat makes furrows in me,
I make furrows in the earth
Without stopping.
I affirm hope well
When I think of the other star;
It is never too late she tells me
The dove will fly.
Butterflies fly, crickets sing,
My skin turns black
And the sun shines, shines, shines.
And in the afternoon when I return
In the sky appearing
A star.
It is never late, she tells me,
The dove will fly, fly, fly,
Like the tight yoke
I have a hopeful fist
Because everything
It will change.

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