The Huasteca is in mourning
Its huapanguero has died
That falsetto is no longer heard
Which is the soul of the troubadour

His name was Rogaciano
Rogaciano the huapanguero
And they were tunes from the mountains
The songs of the troubadour

Azucena and Cecilia
Cry, cry without consolation
Graceful Malagueña
Their herald is gone

The sugarcane is at its peak
Today the milling begins
The mill is in mourning
And it sighs with every turn

Through the green coffee plantations
Beyond that pasture
Some say that at night
The huapanguero appears

Azucena and Cecilia
Cry, cry without consolation
Graceful Malagueña
Their herald is gone

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