A piece of the neighborhood, over in Pompeya,
sleeping beside the embankment slope.
A streetlamp swaying at the crossing,
and the train sowing farewell’s mystery.
A barking of dogs to the moon.
Love hidden behind a gate.
And the frogs drumming in the lagoon
and afar, the voice of the bandoneon.
Neighborhood of tango, moon, and mystery,
distant streets, how might they be now?
Old friends I barely remember,
what has become of them, where are they now?
Neighborhood of tango, what became of her,
Juana, the blonde I so dearly loved.
Does she know I suffer, thinking of her,
since the evening when I left her?
Neighborhood of tango, moon, and mystery,
from memory, I see you again!
A chorus of whistles there on the corner.
The tavern now filling up with noise.
And the drama of the pale neighbor,
who never came out to watch the train.
I recall your nights, neighborhood of tango,
with the carts heading to the big yard
and the moon wading through the mud
and in the distance, the voice of the bandoneon.
