It is said that those who drink Calafate sour,
Will return one day in a blessed moment, or hour,
To the wildlands of Chile, this Patagonian place,
He explained with a smile on his Brazilian face.
I want to go back to the mountains, my home,
Where the men carry life on their shoulders,
I want to return to the sendero so lonesome,
With glaciers frozen, the wind even colder.
Take me to the place where possession's unknown,
Where there is only the spirit of us,
Where the flag of Magallanes so proudly is flown,
Where we leave only footprints in dust.
There's a place where the wind knocks you down,
And tests your courage to its very core,
This place where Pachamama makes you bow,
A hundred times til you're bloody and sore.
In return she'll give you her birdsong for free,
And the embrace of the longest of days,
When she rains, washing dirt from your eyes you can see,
All you lacked in that big city haze.
Take me back to the place where I awake to laughter,
From my humble tent bed in the mud,
On the trail it was 'now', there existed no 'after',
I keep the beauty of the O in my blood.
Take me to snowfall and the snapfreezing cold,
Where the wind screams and howls through the night,
Take me to cliff faces, of terrors untold,
Force me to face alone, this fear of heights.
This place has feathers of watery wind,
Sheer drops onto glacier and ice field,
If you look closely enough, you'll see rainbows within,
Tears in my eyes and my heart, I kneel.
Take me to where the mat'e is shared,
Crocs as far as the eye can see,
There is nothing on earth that can ever compare,
To the gift of each day here, born free.
I'll go back there one day, I have no doubt,
There exists magic in forest and sea,
I'll never forget you, your delighted shouts,
As these trekkers turned into one family.
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