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Torrente

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Song

Torrente (Torrent) is the title of a tango written by Homero Manzi in 1944. The music was composed by Hugo Gutiérrez.

Music
Genre:

Tango

Composer(s):

Hugo Gutiérrez

Year of composition:

1944

Lyrics

Lyrics writer(s):

Homero Manzi


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: Torrente

Solloza mi ansiedad...
También mi soledad
quisiera sollozar cobardemente.

Angustia de jugar y de repente,
sin querer,
perder el corazón en el torrente.

Se queja nuestro ayer...
se queja con un tono de abandono
que recuerda con dolor
la noche del adiós...
la noche que encendimos de reproches
y el amor pasó.

Adiós...
la triste y la más gris canción de amor.
Ayer...
el último y fatal ayer final.

Fue mi desprecio, mi desprecio necio.
Fue tu amargura, tu amargura oscura.
Nuestro egoísmo nos lanzó al abismo
y nos vimos de repente en el torrente
más atroz.
Torrente de rencor
brutal y cruel
que ya no ofrece salvación.

Se queja el corazón...
Se queja con razón
al ver lo que quedó de aquel pasado.

Perfume de rosal,
rumor callado de cristal
y todo es un nidal abandonado.

Solloza el corazón...
solloza como un niño sin cariño,
sin abrigo ni ilusión.
Y vuelve del adiós
la tarde en que los dos fuimos cobardes
y el amor pasó.

English: Torrent

My anxiety sobs...
My loneliness as well
would wish to sob cowardly.

Anguish of playing and suddenly,
without wanting to,
losing one’s heart in the torrent.

Our yesterday complains...
it complains with a tone of abandonment
that painfully recalls
the night of farewell...
the night we lit up with reproaches
and love passed.

Farewell...
the sad and grayest love song.
Yesterday...
the last and fatal, final yesterday.

It was my scorn, my stubborn scorn.
It was your bitterness, your dark bitterness.
Our selfishness threw us into the abyss
and all of a sudden we found ourselves
in the most atrocious torrent.
Torrent of rancour,
brutal and cruel,
that no longer offers salvation.

The heart complains,
it complains with a good reason,
seeing what is left from that past.

Fragrance from the rose bush,
quiet rumour of crystal
and everything is an abandoned nest.

The heart sobs...
it sobs like a child without love,
without shelter or hope.
And it comes back from goodbye,
the afternoon we both were cowards
and love passed.

References


Further links