You see, sometimes I grow weary of being a man and also
it tires to hear that everything is alright,
and to see sad men looking South,
and not to be if you don't look at me.
You see, at times I grow weary of losing you and knowing,
that we're alone and he's not coming back,
Guevara1 to tell me the reason for
not seeing you laying down in my mattress.
And in the meantime,
crashing scaffolds2,
cockleshells and shipwrecks,
keep us awake from our dreams.
And in the meantime
if Havana falls today,
tomorrow
who will be our master?
And so I sing to remember
that you are still by my side,
that you still dream awake because that way
we beat fatigue.
And so I sing to remember
that we are still alive,
if you don't see beyond your horizon
we'll be lost.
You see, at times I grow weary of being free, of being
free to betray myself and drop,
dead where my freedom prefers,
always on the other side of your border.
You see, at times I grow weary of myself and of not having
enough courage to seek you and commit,
every felony this love demands.
"Freeze, your lips or your life."
And in the meantime,
crashing scaffolds2,
cockleshells and shipwrecks,
keep us awake from our dreams.
And in the meantime,
if Lacandona3 burns,
if Marcos4 quits,
who will be our master?
And so I sing to remember
that you are still by my side,
that you still dream awake because that way
we beat fatigue.
And so I sing to remember
that we are still alive,
if you don't see beyond your horizon
we'll be lost.
