51
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Well it is not that far
The smuggler said
You walk north one day
Across la cabeza prieta
Just keep walking to interstate eight
Well they walked that day
The next
And the next
And the water it ran out one by one
Ay mijitos
They looked like dried leaves
Scattered in the sun
Oh my dear ones
We are lost
Well it is so far away
From the lowlands of veracruz
To the desert up north of sonora
Where they strung out in ones and twos
They got twelve lines
In a midwestern paper
On the pages with the ads for shoes
Well they were fourteen men
They got lost in the desert
They were migrants
They got twelve lines of news
Pull together, my brothers, pull together
We are burning
Pull together, my brothers, pull together
The devil is passing
They got twelve lines
In a midwestern paper
On the pages with the ads for shoes
They were fourteen men
They got lost in the desert
They were migrants
They got twelve lines of news
Oh my dear ones
We are lost
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