Señor Javier.

The dry plains of this land.
Parched, but not a blemish on your family.
The base of the olive tree wrinkles.
It´s as old as the moor muscle of the towns folk.
Older than any rioja vine or the blood of the bull.
Señor Javier the insignia and the expression of your passion.
This warm land still shares winter with the north.
The temperate mountains still collect a fine layer of ice.
The sadness about your children´s joblessness.
Hold spain, the blizzard of greed will all be invain!