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Año del cuarenta y uno
diciembre por cierto el mes,
hubo una muerte en Lozada
un sábado veintitrés.
Cuando Ezequiel llegó al baile
ahí les echa unas habladas:
--Respétenme, soy su padre,
agraristas de Lozada.—
--Yo me encargo una cabeza,
y aquí la traigo en mi lista,
Esta noche se la mando,
ha de ser de un agrarista.—
Anselmo sacó pistola
y Ezequiel sacó la de él,
porque se le afiguraba
que todo el mundo era de él.
Luego que Ezequiel cayó,
que ni las manos metía,
toda la gente gritaba:
--¡Que viva Anselmo García!—
Salieron todo el camino,
iban con rumbo a Linares,
con Ezequiel mal herido
sin saber sus familiares.
Adiós caballo alazán,
ya no te vuelvo a montar,
me llevan para Linares,
me llevan a sepultar.
Me voy a la sepultura,
ni mi pistola deseo,
mataron a un pistolero
de la gente de Atadeo. |
The year was forty-one
December was for sure the month,
there was a death in Lozada
on Saturday the twenty-third.
When Ezequiel arrived at the dance
There he spoke some words to them:
--Respect me, I am your father,
agraristas of Lozado.--
--I will choose someone’s head,
and I have it here in my list,
This night I demand it,
it has to be of an agrarista.--
Anselmo took out his gun
and Ezequiel took out his,
because he figured
that all the world was his.
After Ezequiel fell,
before both his hands laid down,
all the people shouted:
--¡Hurray for Anselmo Garcia!--
They went all the way,
they were going bound for Linares,
with Ezequiel badly wounded
without his family knowing.
Goodbye chestnut colored horse,
I won’t ride you again,
they are taking me to Linares,
they are taking me to bury me.
I am going away to the burial,
not even my pistol I desire,
they killed a gunman
from Atadeo’s people. |
