Post by George the 3rd on Nov 26, 2008 19:01:26 GMT -5
Guantanamera
I am a sincere man
From where the palm tree grows
And before dying I want
To share the verses of my soul.
My verse is light green
And it is flaming crimson
My verse is a wounded deer
Who seeks refuge on the mountain
I cultivate a white rose
In July as in January
For the sincere friend
Who gives me his honest hand.
And for the cruel one
who would tear out this heart with which I live
I do not cultivate nettles nor thistles
I cultivate a white rose
With the poor people of the earth
I want to share my fate
The brook of the mountains
Gives me more pleasure than the sea
I am a sincere man
From where the palm tree grows
And before dying I want
To share the verses of my soul.
My verse is light green
And it is flaming crimson
My verse is a wounded deer
Who seeks refuge on the mountain
I cultivate a white rose
In July as in January
For the sincere friend
Who gives me his honest hand.
And for the cruel one
who would tear out this heart with which I live
I do not cultivate nettles nor thistles
I cultivate a white rose
With the poor people of the earth
I want to share my fate
The brook of the mountains
Gives me more pleasure than the sea
Those who wish to join may introduce themselves here.
