They will open their doors to you, Red fighter, They will welcome you To the abung-abung still warm with saleng. The cold of night cloaks the Igorot land In these foothills of the Gran Cordillera. The pine trees, sweet potatoes and the palay in the payaw Take roots among the stones. The harvest in the agamang Will only last a few months. Days are rare when the gimata From the clearing, or the forest trap For deer and wild boar, brings in anything. Stone upon stone Leads to every door Of this new guerrilla zone, opening to calls Of the natives' fathers and brothers. The natives gather in the dap-ay Round the light and warmth of the saleng As the pine trees The ruling classes now claim stand watch. The fire hisses through the cold of night, Light strikes the trigger of an M16, A pile of new saleng blazes For the unity of the natives and the Red fighters.   They will open their doors to you, welcome you To the abung-abung that shall never lack saleng.   (E.P.)