In the cold of the South everything is different The wind cuts deep into us But if there is something that warms the soul It is the mate that never fails On cold winter mornings You can hear the external matte bombs And it's impossible not to get emotional With the smell of mate in the air If the sky becomes gray And the cold cuts like a razor It's the mate wheels That warm our souls The bitter taste of mate And the sweetness of family moments It's the perfect blend On a cold afternoon of pure coziness The tradition we keep alive In succeeding generations And the mate well barley It continues to warm our hearts In the cold of the South everything is different But mate makes us feel content. And so we went on, gourd in hand, To appreciate tradition. --auto --s2

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