“The Road of Terror, Not Milodón”

Kilometer by kilometer, the tremors grow, the wheels sink down, there’s nowhere else to go. Tourists come searching for the Milodón, but find a journey full of frustration on. No solid pavement, just dust and pain, potholes await, endless, plain. From Puerto Natales to Serrano, we fight, two hours of battle, no smooth ride in sight. It’s the road of terror, not Milodón, a broken route, loaded with frustration. Eighty kilometers of pure deception, should be called “The Scam” or “The Terror Section.” Let the rocks rattle, let the engine roar, a thousand holes lead us, lost and sore! It’s the road of terror, not Milodón, tourists arrive and leave with a heavy impression. Communes debate, but no one acts, years of patches, which the wind retracts. A tourist spot that shines from afar, but its road is full of shadowed scars. The government promises, companies bail, the same old disaster, a constant trail. Locals whisper, a quiet sound, the name that echoes all around: “The Road of Terror!” It’s the road of terror, not Milodón, a broken route, loaded with frustration. Eighty kilometers of pure deception, should be called “The Scam” or “The Terror Section.” Let the rocks rattle, let the engine roar, a thousand holes lead us, lost and sore! It’s the road of terror, not Milodón, tourists arrive and leave with a heavy impression. What’s the point of a destination if the journey’s so rough? Where they should keep us safe, they make it tough. A road to the world’s end should bring peace, but all you find is trouble that won’t cease. It’s the road of terror, not Milodón, a broken route, loaded with frustration. Eighty kilometers of pure deception, should be called “The Scam” or “The Terror Section.” Let the rocks rattle, let the engine roar, a thousand holes lead us, lost and sore! It’s the road of terror, not Milodón, tourists arrive and leave with a heavy impression. “Patagonia Salvaje”