Far from home but I make you a song, of those that rhyme with beaches and palm trees; on an imaginary bus, from the Tacal to the Peñón, or crossing the neighborhood, walking on trails. Always living your way. Is it my impression or am I missing you? I look for the heat in the memory of my land and although I say no the distance startles. I do not know what awaits me in this jump, that I look high and that I am against anyone. I celebrate my departure with courage, however, I do not know until when ... Cumaná, to you who saw you. Chorus: Ay, Cumana, to you who saw you and through your streets will pass ... and if I went to Mass to San Francisco, at dawn. II You who gave me a guitar; You gave me a voice, you gave me the gift of speech. Well, I'm at peace, I'm not a dog that barks at you: what I had you gave me and what I did not imagine. Now, that's right, I've ever questioned myself: Although I feel my flag and I also feel my brothers ... Why am I Venezuelan if I feel Cumanian? What's more, now that I'm here, I feel beyond. Manzanares River let me pass. Chorus: Ay, Cumana, to you who saw you and through your streets will pass ... and if I went to Mass to San Francisco, at dawn.