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Spain, white shirt of my hope
Dry history that burn us
with only approaching to it
Dove searching starrier skies
Where we can meet without destroy us
Where we can seat and talk
Spain, white shirt of my hope
The black sorrow torments us
The sorrow leaves lead on the wings
I would want to lend a hand but I always lend words
That, usually, end in nothing
When they confront the wide sea
Spain, white shirt of my hope
Sometimes mother, always stepmother
Knife, mud, carnation, sword
The death, always present, accompanies us
In our daily things
And, at the end, she makes all equal
Spain, white shirt of my hope
Out, inside, sweet or bitter
Aroms of incense. Of lime and cane
Who put the unease in our depths
Made us free, but without wings
Left the hunger, but stole the bread
Spain, white shirt of my hope
Here you have me, I want to stay with you
Love you so much cost me nothing
You always make us in your image and likeness
The bad and good things that are in your figure
Pilgrim to nowhere