A piece of neighborhood, over there in Pompeya,
falling asleep beside the embankment.
A lantern swaying at the barrier
and the mystery of goodbye sown by the train.
A dog barking at the moon.
Love hidden in a gate.
And the frogs drumming in the lagoon
and, in the distance, the voice of the bandoneon.
Neighborhood of tango, moon and mystery,
distant streets, how are you now!
Old friends I hardly remember,
what became of them, where might they be?
Neighborhood of tango, what became of that,
Juana, the blonde, whom I loved so dear?
Would she know I suffer, thinking of her,
since the afternoon that I left her!
Neighborhood of tango, moon and mystery,
from memory I see you again!
A choir of whistles there on the corner.
The elbow filling the small store.
And the drama of the pale neighbor
who never again came to watch the train.
Thus I evoke your nights, tango’s neighborhood,
with the carts entering the yard
and the moon splashing over the mud
and, in the distance, the voice of the bandoneon.
