Nada
Nada (Nothing) is the title of a tango written by Horacio Sanguinetti in 1944. The music was composed by José Dames.
Lyrics writer(s):
Regretful, the poet returns to the house where his beloved was born, to ask for forgiveness, but he only finds weeds and an empty dwelling, locked with a painful bolt that tells him it is too late.
Contents
Recordings
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Lyrics
He llegado hasta tu casa...
¡Yo no sé cómo he podido!
Si me han dicho que no estás,
que ya nunca volverás...
¡Si me han dicho que te has ido!
¡Cuánta nieve hay en mi alma!
¡Qué silencio hay en tu puerta!
Al llegar hasta el umbral,
un candado de dolor
me detuvo el corazón.
Nada, nada queda en tu casa natal,
sólo telarañas que teje el yuyal.
El rosal tampoco existe
y es seguro que se ha muerto al irte tú.
¡Todo es una cruz!
Nada, nada más que tristeza y quietud,
nadie que me diga si vives aún.
¿Dónde estás, para decirte
que hoy he vuelto arrepentido a buscar tu amor?
Ya me alejo de tu casa
y me voy ya ni sé donde.
Sin querer te digo adiós
y hasta el eco de tu voz
de la nada me responde.
En la cruz de tu candado
por tu pena yo he rezado
y ha rodado en tu portón
una lágrima hecha flor
de mi pobre corazón.
I have arrived at your house.
I don’t know how I’ve managed to!
If they have told me you are not there,
that you will never return...
If they have told me that you have gone away!
There is so much snow in my soul!
There is so much silence at your door!
When I reached the threshold
a bolt of pain
stopped my heart.
Nothing, nothing is left in the house where you were born,
only spiderwebs spun by the weeds.
The rose bush isn’t there either;
it surely died when you left.
Everything is a cross!
Nothing, nothing else but sadness and stillness,
nobody who will tell me if you are still alive.
Where are you? I need to tell you that today
I have returned repentant, looking for your love.
I am already walking away from your house
and I go, not even knowing where to anymore.
Not wanting to, I bid you farewell
and the echo of your voice
answers me out of nowhere.
At the cross of that bolt
I have prayed for your sorrow,
and from my poor heart
a tear, made flower,
has rolled down your gate.