| I sing to you, because it is not true
|
| That you died, Camilo
|
| I sing to you, because you are alive
|
| And not because you died
|
| Because you are alive in the soul
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| From the town of your love
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| In the laughter of children
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| And in the green of the palms
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| I sing to you, because you are alive, Camilo
|
| And not because you died
|
| I sing to you, because you are alive, Camilo
|
| And not because you died
|
| Because you live, vigilante
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| In the brave and fine iron
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| of the peasant machete
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| And from the worker's rifle
|
| Because your presence lives
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| In the town that studies you
|
| Cause you're alive in the fight
|
| And I live in independence
|
| I sing to you, because you are alive, Camilo
|
| And not because you died
|
| I sing to you, because you are alive, Camilo
|
| And not because you died
|
| because you are alive soldier
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| For the country always on watch
|
| Cause you're alive at school
|
| In the land and the plow
|
| I live your honey face
|
| on the lonely star
|
| I live in agrarian reform
|
| And in Fidel's dream
|
| I sing to you, because you are alive, Camilo
|
| And not because you died
|
| I sing to you, because you are alive, Camilo
|
| And not because you died
|
| Alive will be in the fight
|
| Your guerrilla arm
|
| Yes, along the native path
|
| A bad idea pops up
|
| And then noble and quiet
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| As in that moment
|
| You will hear Fidel again
|
| Ask, am I doing well, Camilo? |