I'm from Cuba, what made me stick and when I get there, I take off, off, off, what the Russian used in the speech that Jumpei II put between his eyebrows. Now the distance remains. If I'm living from my tongue and calming my faithful sadness, how do you want me to stop the blood of love and homeland that runs through my veins? Old and new generations of heart, blood and lung. Far away, where the sun warms more, I forgot my heart, a stream and a palm tree. I left my beloved homeland more than a year ago. As much as you propose it to me, my wound will not close. I come from where there is a river, Tabaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro to the land dreams. I come from where there is a river, Tabaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro to the land dreams. I miss my dear land, don't even try to talk about it. All the time my mind is present, do you understand? My heart speaks to me, don't lie to me, brother. Floating, I walk hand in hand on the map of this world. And from the depths of my heart I feel nostalgia. A strange feeling like longing. From this distance that interposes. That I will return well, it is assumed. And that makes me the happiest man for a second. Jalón sang with Jumpei II. And I again hear the complaint of my young people. And I explain it to you, 100% Cuban prototype. I will tear my heart. And I will wait for my return. To take it out again. And put it on my chest. I come from where there is a river, Tabaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro to the land dreams. I come from where there is a river, Tabaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro to the land dreams. Calle Hueso, San Leopardo, Buena Vista, Miramar, Alamar. La Vitoria, Habana, Vieja, Barrio Nuevo, Bejucal. Where are you, my ramp, the sweat that sings. The cathedral, the Capitol rises in the ear of these 12, 23 and 12. I have given you a walk in the meadow, your lions swim to the lake. They are part of my traditions, my emotions. You are my Cuba, like you, no change. If I am Yoruba, there is no doubt. That if I cry, it is because I miss you. Do not see my malecona, my friends from my area. Those who were born with me, those who played with me. Remembering them without having them hurts me. Year after year, I dream of seeing those friends again. I missed you, the smell of the cabin when it rains. The morocan, born at nine. The one who loves you never dies, no, never, never. I come from where there is a river. Ravaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro makes the earth dream. I come from where there is a river. Ravaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro makes the earth dream. I come from where there is a river. Ravaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro makes the earth dream. I come from where there is a river. Ravaco and Cañaveral. Where the sweat of the Guajiro makes the earth dream.