Grey in the sky and grey in my soul; red in the East and red in my soul... Gris en el cielo y en el alma gris; rojo en Oriente y en el alma rojo...

Oh Man watching from the
doorway of your rustic home,
For my thirst,
have you no water?
For my cold,
no clothes?
No corn for my hunger?
No corner,
to dream in?
No momentary calm for my fears?
---"Ah, Mi-lord:
Who knows?"

Oh Man,
who labours hard in fields
 that someone else owns,
don't you understand,
by right of blood and sweat
they could be yours?
Don't you know you are the Mater?
---"Ah, Mi-lord: who knows?"

Yours is the blood in my veins,
and - by that blood - 
I swear,
if my 
God should ask me which I prefer -
the cross or the laurel,
thorns or flowers,
the kiss that would fill up my song -
trusting my doubt,
I would answer:
---" Ah, My Lord: who knows?"