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Property: SongLyricsEN
From tangowiki.org
This is a property of type Text.
A
I’m a poor, good lad,
hardened in life.
I’m like I’ve always been,
for everything honest and loyal.
I don’t have debts and no one ows me a thing
and if there’s anything in my past
I know well it’s been erased
because I never did anybody wrong.
They call me Juan Tango,
what for should I tell the story!
My cradle was a poor neighbourhood,
humble as bread is,
I carry with my in my eyes
dreams of florida water'"`UNIQ--ref-00000004-QINU`"' and [[Tango Glossary#Percal|percale]].'"`UNIQ--ref-00000005-QINU`"'
Beneath the chambergo’s wing,
genius and leading figure of my city.
They call me Juan Tango,
what for should I tell the story!
To me everyone is good
because I like to be judged
by life’s blows,
just like I judge others.
I’ve always been a simple man
and if the past calls for me
with a scent of broom
I quit my song and go. +
I don’t care
about working,
I don’t care
about waking up early.
In the end, life is just air
with a few truthful fumes.
I follow the party
without looking back.
I don’t care
about the carnival’s end;
there will always be
Pierrots and Columbines.
I don’t care
that the others chatter.
Let the party roll!
I have fun anyway.
I don’t care
that the others chatter.
Let the party roll!
I have fun anyway.
If she’s blond or brunette,
if she can’t dance,
I really don’t care,
I have fun anyway. +
I’ve lived intensely
and was made on the slope
down which dreams escape.
I’ve learnt that luck
doesn’t belong to the strong
and that time always
breaks in every hope
or else sends it rolling away.
Today I know all that,
all that and much more.
I carry in every wound
a defeated dream
that hammers without mercy.
Happiness departed
and these sorrows, so mine,
are of no interest to anyone else.
I go around loving and suffering,
feeling in my own flesh
how sad it is to go around living,
leaving all to chance.
I’ve seen many die down,
big men, experienced men,
some that were real men.
Today I know
the damnation of suffering
as well as the fortitude
necessary to drown with laughter
what the others will say.
Today I know all that,
all that and much more. +
I just plucked the guitar
with the intention of singing to you
that verse you liked
and that I wrote for you.
And I could barely begin,
I choked in the first part
where it says there wasn't
any other love than ours.
That proves to you that the heart
of the one who misses you, knows how to feel.
Warm morning sun,
I go around without any desire to live anymore.
Alone, it's useless, I can't be,
my thoughts have imprisoned you,
and if I can't forget you, not even today that you're away,
not today that I'm old, what am I suffering for?
I don't know myself
and am dying of sadness,
between the four walls
of the poor room that yesterday
shone for being so clean,
and today not even the table is set,
because the lady of the house is missing,
the one that left with my love. +
Farewell, pampa of mine!
I'm leaving… I'm leaving for strange lands.
Farewell, roads I have traversed,
rivers, hills and ravines,
old, abandoned shack where I was born.
If we don't see each other again,
beloved land,
I want you to know that as I depart
I'm leaving my life behind.
Farewell!
As I leave you, pampa of mine,
my eyes and soul become full
with the green of your grass
and the trembling of the stars,
with the singing of your winds
and the weeping of vihuelas'"`UNIQ--ref-0000035D-QINU`"'
which have cheered me up
and other times made me cry.
I'm leaving, pampa of mine...
Farewell, roads I have traversed...
Farewell, plains I have galloped…
Farewell, pampa of mine!
I leave heading for hope.
Farewell, plains I have galloped,
paths, hills and passes,
places where I've dreamt.
I shall return to your soil,
when I feel
my soul escaping
like a dove towards the sky...
Farewell!
I'm leaving, pampa of mine! +
Today your whistle returns and Winter
calls out for yesterday in a hushed tone.
I will keep the light of your memory burning
and from the last platform I will call for you.
Get off here! Drink this glass filled with tenderness.
Between your absence and my madness, runs the train.
The pilgrim train runs
along the old road,
beyond pain,
beyond my love,
beyond destiny.
The pilgrim train runs
along the old road,
and in a distant dream
you will come to my hand,
filling the platform with your presence.
It might be the same, it’s possible, but in things
there’s a sad, imprecise feeling...
The same rain of yesterday doesn’t bring roses anymore,
the same skies of yesterday don’t give out any more faith.
Goodbye, you’re leaving...! Here remains the farewell gesture of the handkerchief
with which you shook your sleeplessness away from the train. +
For God’s sake, I want to live
to feel that pleasure.
I want, my darling, with a wild thirst,
to be able to kiss your pretty mouth.
If only you knew the pain I carry in my soul,
that I can’t find a moment of peace
that would grant my chest relief from this great pain,
because you live in my mind as an adored image,
you are the delicate, mystical flower
for which I sigh with fervent love.
You are the core in my good soul, that soothes the pain;
with great tenacity I want this dream to be
the eternal dream of this great love;
you are an endless spring nourishing my affection.
With the same naivety of a child,
I trust you as I would trust God.
Virgin of love, come to me
because without you, I can’t be.
Come, oh my love!... Come, oh my charming one!
and you will hear the cry that lives within me. +
You left the corner where you were born
chasing after a dream of distance
without thinking that those who loved you
and me, with my fickleness,
remained there.
Agony of living without you
or dying on a road...
I left, leaving behind
the curse on both of us,
and this is how you pay me.
Now you don’t know me,
your ungratefulness erased me.
Even though you cut my soul short
you will never be able to forget
about our youth.
Someday you will cry
for all that you hurt me.
I searched for you without giving myself peace,
for love, nothing more,
and now you don’t know me.
You don’t play with a heart
as you do with mine.
Don’t make elusive gestures,
looking for you was my own deception
and finding you, my punishment.
I don’t know how you can pretend
this amazement at my presence.
I, who dreamt about this occasion,
saw you go by, I heard you laugh,
and my illusion was torn to shreds. +
A black macumba, buzzes the drum.
A dark-skinned man has died and he’s died of love!
Its sound booms, sadly booms:
A brother of our same colour has died!
And they traverse the night, the black folk and the coach
that encloses a reproach of blood and passion.
And a choir of auburn lips sings,
placing the gleams of a torch in the voice.
Alhucema
was the name of the ''morena'''"`UNIQ--ref-000003B4-QINU`"'
who dragged him to death.
Crazy black woman,
it was the blood from her mouth
that got the black men drunk…
Double sorrow,
one lives chained to her
and the other one has died for her love.
Black macumba, what a dark song,
your shadow overthrows the shadow of God.
Azzle, dazzle the black folk that march'"`UNIQ--ref-000003B5-QINU`"'
praying, crying to the beat of the song.
The burial moves away with the songs of the black folk
and the crying of dogs that can sense pain.
The bonfire of the song has been dying out
from the tears, crying.
And the funeral wagon sinks
into a shadowy mud, rolling away. +
My soul, of whom do you dream?
I’ve come to disturb your peace...
Don’t blame me, I’m a singer
who’s wanted to mix in with your dreams
a verse from Buenos Aires,
drunk with love.
If you wake up, don’t curse.
I come here because I adore you,
because I suffer, because I beg,
because I want you to tell me
if it’s true that when you dream
your love caresses me...
Butterfly, your colours
have stolen my heart…
Leave the bed, candid flower,
for love wanders around your gate.
Girl, open your window!
Because with the rays of a smiling moon
the night of Buenos Aires
wants to kiss you…
There sleeps the bird in its nest,
I only disturb the calm
to know if you have a soul,
oh woman!, you have defeated me.
Wake up if you’re asleep,
because for you, my sweet owner,
while Buenos Aires dreams,
I agonize by your balcony… +
Beat flowered with tango,
as you squeeze me in your arms,
a word of love
sets my lips on fire.
One more tango, if it’s not too late,
so that we both dance
to the beat of a rhythm that throbs
just like a heart.
Time passes us by
when I embrace you in a tango.
And I’m dying from the craving
of kissing you on those eyes
that burn me when they look at me.
Time passes us by
when I embrace you in a tango,
as the voice of the orchestra breaks,
telling of tango and love.
A beat flowered with tango
is sweetening my accent
to tell you “I love you”
with my finest expression.
For your love and wherever it fits,
my emotion turns to tango,
to the beat of a rhythm that throbs
just like a heart. +
Anselmo Acuña, the herdsman,
when he feels like a singer
in his sparrow humility
he has the soul of a goldfinch.
Not slow nor opportunistic,
rather tame and strong like an ox.
Anselmo Acuña, the herdsman,
is a criollo by law.
Herd, herd, herd,
don’t cry for her, heart...
Brothers with the stars
were her eyes,
two braids of black silk
crowned her head
and her mouth was an early fig,
like a wounded cherry.
Why make sadness bigger...
Don’t cry for her, heart. +
Scent of a love
my emotion is drawing,
scent of a love
I've seen arrive only in my dreams.
To think that you will pour
into my bitter living
the light of a heart
made song just for me…
I didn’t sleep last night
and without meaning to I dreamt awake:
my longing for affection
searched for you feverishly;
and then the night
kissed me with its murmur,
asking the Lord
for a miracle of love.
I hear you so far away
and my hopes tremble,
the fountains sigh
and my song moans.
I wish the hours
would bring to me
together with the dawn,
like a resounding flower,
the echo of your voice.
I wish your eyes
would be crying for me,
immensly increasing my faith.
I wish your lips,
distant and so cold,
would repeat along with mine
that you’ll be my love. +
Tear this doubt from my chest,
it’s killing me
and poisoning my existence.
Tell me
if it is true that your affection,
once my only joy,
is already dead to me.
I don't want charity
from your lying mouth,
that today kisses me, deceitfully.
I prefer
that you speak to me sincerely,
that you have enough integrity
to tell me the truth.
I want to know
what’s the matter with you.
I find you saddened
and even towards my love
I notice with pain
that you're acting aloof.
I want you to talk to me,
to know
why you have changed so much.
No, do not cry!
I already know
that you care for me.'"`UNIQ--ref-00000004-QINU`"'
Those tears tell me
that jealousy blinded me,
that you are the same as before.
Forgive
all the harm I've done to you,
the outburst that a doubt
nourished in my chest.
Do not cry, I have managed
to rip the bandage
covering my eyes,
and now
with my kisses I wish
to forget this moment
that embittered us both. +
Your absence has me sleepless,
enduring my fortune, without end,
and your name comes to my memory
because of the insatiable thirst for love.
It’s in vain to cry,
nothing soothes the pain
that torments my beaten self
destroying my throne of love.
Come back soon, appease the sorrow,
because your absence kills me, alas poor me!
Nobody wipes off the afflicted tears
that my eyes spill for you.
I wander aimlessly, without faith,
defying pain
without any shelter but the sky
and hoping for my love to return.
My passion was tender and is tender still.
You, on the other hand, don’t know how to love.
What motive have I given you, my soul,
to make me suffer like this?
It’s in vain to cry,
nothing soothes the pain
that torments my beaten self
destroying my throne of love. +
B
A piece of neighbourhood, back there in Pompeya,
falling asleep beside the banks.
A street lamp swinging from the barrier
and the mystery of farewell sown by the train.
Barking of dogs at the moon
and love hidden by a gate.
The toads drum-rolling in the lagoon
and in the distance, the voice of the bandoneon.
Neighbourhood of tango, moon and mystery,
faraway streets, oh how they must be!
Old friends I don’t even remember,
what has become of them, where must they be!
Neighbourhood of tango, whatever happened to that one,
Juana, the blonde I loved so much...
Could she know I suffer thinking about her
ever since that afternoon I left her?
Neighbourhood of tango, moon and mystery,
in the memory I see you again!
A choir of whistles there on the corner.
The [[Tango Glossary#Codillo|''codillo'']] filling the general store.
And the big drama of the pale neighbour
who never came back out to watch the train.
That’s how I recall your nights, neighbourhood of tango,
entering the warehouse with the carts
and the moon wallowing in the mud
and in the distance, the voice of the bandoneon. +
Old neighbourhood of my dreams,
where all the shacks look the same:
just as gales did to you,
so did pain lash me.
Today I find you weathered
but ever so cheerful,
pretty neighbourhood... And me, what am I...?
Thirty years gone by and look,
look how old I’ve got...
My shabby neighbourhood,
my old love,
hear my trilling...
I am your singer.
Listen to the nightingale’s
begging;
today he’s blind,
and sings better.
I seeked fortune
and found a melting pot;
moonlight silver
and sunny gold.
I come seeking
the warmth of a nest.
I’m exhausted
from so much loving.
Shabby neighbourhood, open field
of my first wanderings,
you are the finest page
in my book of hope.
You were cradle and shall be grave
to my lyrical sorrows.
You gave your singer
the soul of a thrush
that died of love. +
Come on, waiter! Bring and serve
strong liquor, grappa or whisky,
well chilled!
To chase away these sorrows
that clog my veins
with anger and thirst.
And if I cling onto memories,
don’t play along with me,
rather punish me for it!
Keep pouring until the full glass
rebels with poison
like me…
To pull out the harm she did
I want to fill myself up with alcohol,
because these cowardly loves
latch onto the soul
and put out my sun...
And if my mind gets exhausted
from so, so much drinking...
Keep on filling my glass,
because the thirst for a love
is deep and mad.
Come on, waiter! Bring and pour
strong liquor, grappa or whisky
for the pain...
Because the sun of her twenty years
has burned with its deception
my life and my love...
Because in her lying mouth,
painted pink,
I got drunk with bile.
And today, seeing that it resists,
I seek oblivion and want whisky,
well chilled! +
About this place, Boedo and San Juan,
I’m going to sing
a sad, heartfelt tango...
Because I want to greet and remember
the neighbourhood where I was born...
Where is the thrill
of my childhood,
with a blue, hopscotch sky...
Coloured kites,
paper illusions
the wind has taken away!
All that, where is it,
dear corners of my yesterday,
of here, of Boedo and San Juan?
Today, that I begin to turn gray
and to understand
what life is,
what wouldn’t I give to go back
and to have
the lost years back!
Today, that the autumnal nightfall
of my existence
begins,
how I long for
what the fleeting landscape
of that clear sunrise once was!
Of here, of Boedo and San Juan,
I once got out
and got lost in the distance...
Who doesn’t dream at a café,
ever,
to make a trip all the way to France!
My neighbourhood stayed there,
far away from me,
but very close to my soul!
And in the nights of Paris
its memory grew bigger
and for ten years I didn’t go back...
And when I returned, I found it
so changed that I cried
just as I did when I left...
Today, that I being to turn gray
and to understand
what life’s about,
what wouldn’t I give to go back
and to have
the years I’ve lost!
Today, that the autumnal nightfall
of my existence
begins,
how I long for
what the fleeting landscape
of that clear sunrise once was!
All that, where is it,
dear corners of my yesterday,
of here, of Boedo and San Juan? +
Buenos Aires, the queen of the Plata'"`UNIQ--ref-00000004-QINU`"',
Buenos Aires, my beloved land,
listen to my song,
because with it goes my life.
On my hours of fever and orgies,
already jaded with pleasure and madness,
I think of you, my homeland,
to ease my bitterness.
''Porteño'''"`UNIQ--ref-00000005-QINU`"' nights,
beneath your mantle,
joys and weeping
go close together.
Laughter and kisses,
streaks of partying,
everything is forgotten
with champagne.
And on the way out
of the milonga,
a little girl cries
asking for bread...
That’s why in the ''gotán'''"`UNIQ--ref-00000006-QINU`"'
a sorrow is always sobbing...
To the grumbling rhythm of the bellows'"`UNIQ--ref-00000007-QINU`"'
a [[Tango Glossary#Bac.C3.A1n|''bacán'']] tangles up his woman
and the weeping of the violin
goes around making a picture of the soul of the nation.'"`UNIQ--ref-00000008-QINU`"'
Buenos Aires... just like a beloved woman,
if you’re far away, it’s better to love you
and to say during the whole life:
I’d rather die than forget you… +