Llevadme a mi Extremadura

The song smells of wild grasses and good old sadness: it asks to be taken back to its homeland - Extremadura - and scattered in the wind to become fertilizer for the harvest. In these lines, you can smell the chloroform and feel the gentle harshness of the earth: rough, but reliably masculine - like a straw blanket that you wouldn't be ashamed to lay on the cold threshold of your memories.

Everything is permeated by a cycle - departure, a flicker of memory, and rebirth in every ear of corn. Immigrant melancholy turns into an almost magical promise of immortality: to die and immediately return in every sprout. This is not a dramatic monologue, but a gentle instruction on how to turn into dust, into the scent of rosemary, and into what will nourish the earth again.

Slightly ironic and homely warm: it seems ready to scatter in the wind, but at the same time proud to be part of the harvest, part of those fields and roads that were once empty. The music seems to embrace the old village, sifting through the past with its fingers and saying: a place is what awaits, and no matter where the heart travels, it will still show the way home.