THE MULETEER

The whirlwinds dance in the sand,
the sun plays in the glitter of the rocky ground,
and attached to the magic of the roads,
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.

His poncho to the wind is like a flag of fog,
the flutes of the scrubland salute him,
and encouraging the troop through those hills,
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.

The sorrows and the cows
leave on the same path.
The sorrows are ours,
the cows are aliens.

The sunset shows red-bleeding suns,
the lights of the rocky ground have slept,
and encouraging the troop on and on,
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.

And I hope the night brings a memory
to make my loneliness less heavy.
Like a shadow in the shadow through those hills,
the muleteer goes, the muleteer goes.