The window

I saw your face through the window
and in a sturdy cradle
heavy sleep was called
to cover you,
ay, ay, ay,
to cover you.

Time after time I took care of you
next to the window
where the books word by word
gave themselves to you,
ay, ay, ay,
gave themselves to you.

So many windows,
live has so many windows.
Who would belive it!

Where the sad student from the window
keeps watch
you heard one day the burning voice
of the guerrilla,
ay, ay, ay,
of the guerrilla.

And another window sometime later
closed you in,
and instead of glass
it had fingers of dark iron,
ay, ay, ay,
of dark iron.

You cut the iron, you jumped the wall,
you ran outside
and the bullets
spilled my blood,
ay, ay, ay,
from your veins.

He sleeps so deeply under the stone,
the young boy,
but in the struggle of the guerrillero
living proudly,
ay, ay, ay,
I can see him.

With each fallen fighter
hour after hour
the liberation struggle grows!