[Intro] [instrumental brass attack] [Spoken] Three warriors opened up your eyes to sword, to cross, to banner’s rise— since then no fear your borders haunt, nor greed your great heart’s noble want. [Verse 1] A diamond’s depth struck, one August, the strings of a new lute’s trust, and now we hear the melodious flow in hymns where youth’s fresh voices go. Fertile mother of proud offspring who smile at vain and gilded thing— still watchful for the morning light, and to the past, forever bright. [Chorus] Let us sing a hymn to your sky, to your land and your pure living— white star that in the Andes glows! broad path that to the future goes! [Verse 2] The savanna is a fallen sky, a carpet spread where your feet lie; and of the varied world you cheer, you are both arm and brain, my dear. Surviving from a golden reign, a sunless empire’s ageless plane— in you: a temple, shield, a grille, a reredos, font, a lantern still. [Chorus] Let us sing a hymn to your sky, to your land and your pure living— white star that in the Andes glows! broad path that to the future goes! [Verse 3] To Caldas, scanning stars on high, to Bolívar, reborn nearby, to Nariño, the press’s spark— as in dreams, you see them in the dark. Caros, Cuervos, Pombos, Silvas— so many names of deathless fame; on history’s endless, thread-like line, your mother’s love gave life divine. [Chorus] Let us sing a hymn to your sky, to your land and your pure living— white star that in the Andes glows! broad path that to the future goes! [Montuno] [Choir] Where is the melodious flow heard? [Solo] In the hymns of youth, each word. [Choir] How is the melodious flow heard? [Solo] With the strings of a new lute stirred. [Choir] What names are of immortal fame? [Solo] Caros, Cuervos, Pombos—same. [Choir] Is the savanna a fallen sky? [Solo] A carpet spread for your feet, yes—why? [Bridge] Oriflamme of Gran Colombia— in Caracas and Quito, yeah— forever in your glory’s light, with freedom’s reveilles burning bright. [Verse 4] Noble, loyal in peace and war, at the foot of your strong hills’ lore, and in the half-moon’s arched decree, you rise as Cid, Santa Fe—free. Flower of races, crown and sum— in the homeland none else will come; our voice the centuries repeat: ¡Bogotá! ¡Bogotá! ¡Bogotá! [Chorus] Let us sing a hymn to your sky, to your land and your pure living— white star that in the Andes glows! broad path that to the future goes! [Outro] Flower of races, crown and sum— in the homeland none else will come; our voice the centuries repeat: Bogotá! Bogotá! Bogotá!
