We ride into the dawn of harmony
Nobody can say our name is a dark date
With lights off and with still eyes of sunrise as a candle, we departed one late night in early November towards the island
History says there was bad weather under the sky of the sailors.
It says that the drizzle fell upon the men shoulders
And the winds of the Caribbean not just pursued the constant danger of shelter, but the vomit, the fatigue and the unbearable asthma attacks scratched our hearts why we looked at the horizon.
None can say our name is a dark date
In that white colored yacht soaring the blue sea and old glasses we felt how the waves of uncertainty would do as much as our desire to put the past behind.
At the time we recorded our landing in the muddy waters of Las Coloradas with the same joy of the children who see the future with the eyes of Abel and Frank and the Peruvian boy who’s name we can’t remember but whose face we always match with Juan Pablo, to his undying smile, we discovered that behind every act of ours the Apostol word would shine.  
  After came writing, the forging of the knife shining in the night of the Sierra,
The opening towards the light of voluntary work and how the humble hand is lent to hold another, proletarian internationalism. Nobody will say our name is a dark arrow  
Our small name which today travels across the latitudes in the fatigues and the mouser of our comrades who between songs and shivers march towards the dawn of harmony. Nobody will say our name is a dark arrow