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.