Juan Diego holds his father's calloused hands
Like a red rose withered in the Mexican sun
Makes the sign of the cross and he points down the road
To the hill, to where his father's gone
After all the birds have flown
O Love, like a river, won't you carry me?
Juan Diego wipes the dirt from his hands
Like red blood, bleeding from the Mexican sun
Makes the sign of the cross and he points down the road
To the hill where our mother came
After all the birds have flown
O Love, like a river, won't you carry me?
And in this desert of dust and stone
O Love, like a river, won't you carry me?