¡Oh freedom that perfumes
the mountains of my land,
let my children smell
your fragant scents!

I love the Sun because it goes free,
all over the bluish sphere,
the hurricane because it whistles
with freedom in the jungles.

the axe that my forefathers
gave me for inheritance,
I love it because at its hits
free accents sound.

I that was born haughty and free
over an antioquenian land
carry the iron in my hands
because in the neck it weights.

i was born over a mountain,
my sweet mother tells me
that the sun brighted my cradle
over a peeled range.

born free as the wind
of the antioquenian lands
like the condor of the Andes
that flights from mountain to mountain.

eagle pigeon that is born
over the top of a rock
always likes the peaks
where the winds refresh.

when I go down the valley
and hear the trumpet calling,
i go up to the high mountains
to give the alert voice.

my fellows, joyful,
the axe in the mountains leave
to hold in their hands
the lance that the sun plates.

with the bags in our backs
we walk plains and hills,
and we cross the mountains
and wide rivers and high ranges.

and when at last we see,
there in the wide plains,
the enemy's tents
bleached with smoke and people,

we fly as hurricanes
spilled over the earth,
poor of whoever expects the pressure
of our scrambled lances!

we forgive the surrendered
because there's also nobleness
in the brave hearts
that fill the ancient jungles.

when we come back thriumphant
the girls of the villages
put flower crowns
in our cold foreheads.

in the light of the joyful afternoon
pale, tan, fresh
of the mountain on it's peak
our houses bleach.

we walk singing to the valley
because the heart feels happy;
because it make us scream
just to see our land.

is the prayer; the bells
sound with paused knocking;
with the bags in our backs
we are walking up the hill.

the breezes in the hills
descend filled with scent,
the moon brights full
and lights the road.

happly bark the dogs
behind the groves;
the heart inside us
of joy beats and tembles...

we walk... we walk...
and you bleach... and they bleach...
and are opened with their noise
of the houses the doors.

tears, screams, sighs,
kisses and tender smiles,
in squeezed arms
and in emotions they burst.

¡Oh freedom that perfumes
the mountains of my land,
let my children smell
your fragant scents!

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