Well we
blew off immigration, the moon was sitting high,
as we drove from the Lacandon into Comitan.
Gloria was singing and Cecilia closed her eyes,
and I saw them drifting out over the night sky.
Nuevas Senoritas,
are you gone to brighter days?
Have you found your greener valleys
and the place where your heart lays?
I’m heading back to the flatlands and you’re heading up to the hills.
The rain brings you home in the middle of July.
I guess I just got lonesome when I think about how you feel,
with six months gone and no one to dry your eyes.
Nuevas Senoritas,
are you gone to brighter days?
Have you found your greener valleys
And the place where your heart lays.
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