The neighborhood sleeps and dreams
to the lullaby of a sad, crying tango;
in silence trembles
the milonguero voice of a young singer.
The last hope floats in his song,
in his rogue song,
and in the sweet singing he raises
all the sweetness of his humble love.
Lovely girl of my dreams,
in this crying tango
my melancholy love is singing
its milonga of pain,
and amidst the whining of the bellows
and the swing of my voice,
excited and trembling,
humbly the heart vibrates.
You’re the prettiest girl of the poor neighborhood,
you are the rogue muse of my inspiration;
and in the tangos of the Boy from La Paternal
you’re the Creole soul that cries with love.
Without pretensions, my melancholy muse
whispers in verse its sorrow;
your crazy, simple, and milonguera soul
has driven my poor heart mad.
The neighborhood sleeps and dreams
to the lullaby of the sad, crying tango;
in silence trembles
the milonguero voice of the young singer;
the last hope floats in his song,
in his rogue song,
and the passing wind carries
all the sweetness of his heart.