In a tiny room lighted by two candles stuck in the necks of bottles, there was a dead man stretched out on a mattress....
From afar came the sound of tambourines and songs; from time to time the shrill voice of some drunken old hag would shout:
Ande, ande, ande
la marimorena;
ande, ande, ande,
que es la Nochebuena.
On with the fight,
Let no one grieve.
On with the row,