Motorcycle Diary

Crossing South America, 12,000 miles of poverty
I ride, outrageously arrogant, on an impulse
Vast and boundless earth, but I can’t grow a dream
I can only see the countless hungry children and hopeless tenant farmers

Ah, who is waiting for a hero
Ah, with my revolver I take aim at the heartless sky

Who’s willing [bad word] with me, to create a legend together
Do you still dream?  Are you still crazy?
Do you still have the old romanticism?

Who’s willing [bad word] with me, to create a legend together
Even if someone can eliminate me
They still cannot seize our freedom to dream

In a thousand years, a rainbow hasn’t appeared in the Indies’ skies
Unemployed, old people are playing the banjo
Who is sleeping in the streets, and who lives in a royal palace
The diary is full of dreams, I decide to use this life to recite them

Ah, who cares to shout for freedom
Ah, I use my life to challenge the predestined universe

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