I am the singer from my neighborhood
who came to the center seeking to forget.
With a tuned guitar
and some old tangos I learned along the way.
My name is of no importance,
the neighborhood singer, they usually call me
and nobody knows my sorrow,
forgive me, fellows, I’m going to tell you.
I, who gave life
the charm of love
and learned by losing.
Today, having seen it pass,
I sob remembering
my old wound.
I never denied her my love,
love was wicked,
for being good I loved her.
And seeing her as I saw her,
through those streets of God
I wander without faith.
I am a neighborhood whisper
singing its sorrow, crying as I pass.
A man who lives without life,
who lost everything for knowing how to love.
They call me singer in my neighborhood,
they ask me to sing, I cannot sing.
If I have such a deep sorrow,
forgive me, fellows, I wish to cry.