Apart from the rest, standards we clearly meet
brown, black, white, mix there is no difference
what separates our world is the border of each country
the language we speak and the lack of inconsistence

remember when the times at home were glorious whether rich or poor
for those whose generation lived in harmony, back in the days my friends before we were even born
the skies preached in baby blue and the trees danced to the flow of the breeze
the trends that were simple and elegant for the most hardworking 'campesino', life, compared to now, was but an ease
beats and rythm and the notes that cluttered the night sky
the congas the drums, the serenatas that made 'dulcinea' cry
now its an urban jungle and the struggle to survive, the hustle from every corner, the hot lead that speeds unseen to the naked eye
schools crammed with children whose future is our future, and the future is only the fall of our lives
culture is beautiful and so is living peacfully among our friends and neighbors
its all a dream inside my thoughts, until the professional class can overcome the haters. . . .
Hispano con amor.