Don't cry anymore.
Oh, oh, how hard life is!
Oh, oh, no, no, I can't bear it anymore!
Before I used to sing about mockery,
now about the emigrant
For whom crying has become a routine.
Floods and floods of tears wherever he goes
And the desire to return to where he cannot go.
In my country, for better or worse,
I'm a person like the rest.
When we leave home we feel relieved
But on arriving here we find our problems are worse.
How will I get to Atocha?
How will I get to Gran Via?
How will I get to Bilbao?
How will I get to Tirso de Molina?
Without the police getting their hands on me
and without the police bagging me
The problem of foreigners is living alone
that's the only way you can understand it
Iyöò aè weé
I cry for the emigrants arrested and rejected every day
What can I do? I can neither advance nor retreat
This is my vehicle and it can't go into reverse.