Alert: We are in Beta until mid 2022. When you see something not working as expected, please have a look at known bugs in development and/or drop us a line. Thank you!

Equipaje

From tangowiki.org
This page has not yet been reviewed and approved!
Jump to: navigation, search
Song

Equipaje (Luggage) is the title of a tango written by Carlos Bahr in 1945. The music was composed by Héctor Artola.

Music
Genre:

Tango

Composer(s):

Héctor Artola

Year of composition:

1945

Lyrics

Lyrics writer(s):

Carlos Bahr


Recordings

At the moment, there are no recordings for this song stored in the TangoWiki. If you have sources, add a new recording.

Lyrics

Spanish: Equipaje

Mucho llevo y más no quiero
ya completan mi equipaje,
un amor color de cielo
y un rencor color de sangre.
Un sobrante de ternura
que no tuvo en quien quedarse
y un dolor que por constante
no me quiso abandonar.

Ya es muy pesado para quien no tiene
ni un canto amigo que achique penas,
ni una sonrisa que en la tarde espere,
ni una esperanza de llegar de vuelta.
Sería más fácil caminar si en mi equipaje,
llevara un resto de ilusión, un sueño.
Pero tus manos, sin piedad, rompieron
todos los sueños de mi corazón.

Triste carga la que llevo,
por la vida, calle abajo.
Lastre inútil de recuerdos,
beso amargo de un fracaso.
El dolor de cien empeños
deshojados en mi mano.
Y este torpe pensamiento
que me empuja hacia el rencor.

English: Luggage

I carry much and don’t want any more.
My luggage is already full
with a sky-coloured love
and a rancour with the colour of blood.
A remainder of tenderness
that didn’t have anybody else to stay in,
and a pain that, out of constancy,
didn’t want to abandon me.

It is already too heavy for someone who doesn’t have
a friendly song that will shrink sorrows,
not even a smile that will wait on the afternoon,
not even a hope to return.
It would be easier to walk, if in my luggage
I carried a rest of illusion, a dream.
But your hands, mercilessly, shattered
all the dreams of my heart.

Sad burden, the one I carry
through life, down the street.
Useless ballast of memories,
bitter kiss of a failure.
The pain of a hundred resolutions
stripped of its leaves in my hand.
And this clumsy thought
that drives me to rancour.

References


Further links