Where is your swaying gone,
what happened, hey bandoneon?
Now in my neighborhood I hear
only boleros.
They’ve taken over, and I’m a singer,
I’ll perform if needed,
Buenos Aires, I love you tangoing.
My song is not spite nor reproach,
it’s a cry of rebellion.
They will see what it means to dream,
to smile or to tear,
when this spark hits the heart.
Dance,
feeling with its breath the infatuation,
is to ignite life
in a rhythm of love.
Burn with another mouth the kiss that lied,
the one that until yesterday was mine.
That’s what I seek.
Heart, why cry,
heart, why suffer
if this life is a numbered wheel.
White ball is the love
that in an original jump
seeks a heart to wound and pierces it.
She placed in my yearning the fortune
of her hands and her laughter,
I placed my bets
and you see how I ended,
between glasses and embittered not to die.