Salem State University | Language Resource Center | Spanish Lyrics Collection

Del mar los vieron llegar
mis hermanos emplumados,
eran los hombres barbados
de la profecia esperada.

Se oyó la voz del monarca
de que el dios había llegado
y les abrimos la puerta
por temor a lo ignorado.

Iban montados en bestias
como demonios del mal
iban con fuego en las manos
y cubiertos de metal.

Solo el valor de unos cuantos
les opuso resistencia
y al mirar correr la sangre
se llenaron de verguenza.

Porque los dioses no comen
ni gozan con lo robado
y cuando nos dimos cuenta
ya todo estaba acabado.

En ese error entregamos
la grandeza del pasado
y en ese error nos quedamos
300 años esclavos.

Se nos quedó el maleficio
de brindar al extranjero
nuestra fe, nuestra cultura
nuestro pan, nuestro dinero.

Hoy le seguimos cambiando
oro por cuentas de vidrios
y damos nuestra riqueza
por sus espejos con brillo.

Hoy en pleno siglo XX
nos siguen llegando rubios
y les abrimos la casa
y los llamamos amigos.

Pero si llega cansado
un indio de andar la sierra
lo humillamos y lo vemos
como extraño por su tierra.

Tú, hipócrita, que te muestras
humilde ante el extranjero
pero te vuelves soberbio
con tus hermanos del pueblo.

¡oh! Maldición de Malinche
Enfermedad del presente
¿Cuándo dejarás mi tierra?
¿Cuándo harás libre a mi gente?

From the sea they saw them arrive
mi feathered brothers and sisters
they were the bearded men
of the awaited prophecy.

The voice of the monarch was heard
saying that the god had arrived
and we opened the door to them
out of fear of the unknown.

They were mounted on beasts
like demons of evil
they carried fire in their hands
and they were covered with metal.

Only the valor of a few
put up any resistance to them
and when they saw the blood running
they were filled with shame.

Because gods don't eat,
nor do they enjoy what they've stolen
and by the time we realized
everything was over.

In that mistake we gave up
the greatness of the past
and in that mistake we became
slaves for 300 years.

The curse remained with us
of offering the stranger
our faith, our culture,
our bread, our money.

Today we continue exchanging with them
gold for glass beads
and we give up our wealth
for shiny mirrors.

Today, in the middle of the 20th century
blond people keep coming to us
and we open our homes to them
and we call them friends.

But if there arrives an indian,
tired of walking the mountains
we humiliate him and we see him
as a stranger in his own country.

You, hypocrite, you who appear
humble before the stranger
but become arrogant
with your peasant brothers.

Oh, Malinche's curse,
sickness of the present,
when will you leave my land?
When will you make my people free?