Gólgota
Gólgota (Golgotha) is the title of a tango written by Francisco Gorrindo in 1938. The music was composed by Rodolfo Biagi.
Lyrics writer(s):
Disillusioned with life and torn to pieces by a cruel, hypocritical world that won’t allow for an authentic way of life, the poet lets out his angry lament and seeks to find refuge in alcohol and loneliness.
Contents
Recordings
At the moment, there are no recordings for this song stored in the TangoWiki. If you have sources, add a new recording.
Lyrics
Yo fui capaz de darme entero y es por eso
que me encuentro hecho pedazos
y me encuentro abandonao,
porque me di sin ver a quién me daba
y hoy tengo como premio que estar arrodillao,
arrodillao frente al altar de la mentira,
frente a tantas alcancías que se llaman corazón,
y comulgar en tanta hipocresía
por el pan diario, por un rincón.
Arrodillao hay que vivir,
pa’ merecer algún favor,
que si de pie te ponés para gritar
tanta ruina y maldad,
crucificao te vas a ver
por la moral de los demás,
en este Gólgota cruel,
donde el más vil, ése,
la va de juez.
No me han dejao más que el consuelo de mis noches,
de mis noches de bohemia, mezclar sueños con alcohol.
No quiero más, me basta estando solo,
teniendo por amigo a un vaso de licor
que por lo menos con monedas he comprado,
a quien no podrá venderme, quien me prestará valor
para cumplir en este circo diario
con las piruetas de tanto clown.
I was capable of giving all of me
and that is why I find myself
torn to pieces and abandoned,
because I gave myself away without seeing to whom
and today my prize is to kneel,
to be kneeling before the altar of Lie,
before so many money boxes called ’heart’,
and to take communion with so much hypocrisy
for the daily bread, for a corner in a room.
You must live on your knees
to deserve a favour,
because if you stand up to denounce,
yelling, so much ruin and malice,
you will see yourself crucified
by the moral of the others
on this cruel Golgotha,
where the most evil, that one,
pretends to be judge.
I was left nothing but the comfort of my nights,
of my bohemian nights, mixing dreams with alcohol.
I don’t want more, to be alone is enough,
with a glass of liquor as a friend
that I've bought with coins,
who won’t be able to sell me out, who'll lend me courage
to carry out in this daily circus
the pirouettes of so many clowns.