Candombe del olvido

(Alfredo Zitarrosa is the author of the lyrics and Juan Descrescencio composed the music with the collaboration of Zitarrosa Candombe himself)

Where will those shoes be?
that I had and walked with them,
Where will my knife and my sling be?
the boy I was to answer.

The candombe of oblivion,
Maybe if I ask you for a souvenir,
give me back what I lost.

Chorus
The candombe of oblivion,
Maybe if I ask you for a souvenir,
give me back what I lost.

I no longer remember the garden of the house,
Nobody waits for me in the square anymore.
Soft candombes, silences and names
of others; faces are changed.

The candombe of oblivion,
heart divided in candombes,
He doesn't remember being born.

Chorus
The candombe of oblivion,
Maybe if I ask you for a souvenir,
give me back what I lost.**

Who will give me my innocent voice again,
my face with glasses.
How can I collect the spoken words,
their frozen souls.

The candombe of memory
puts a slow rhythm to destiny
and turns it into a path.

Chorus
The candombe of oblivion,
Maybe if I ask you for a souvenir,
give me back what I lost.

What hard times, the angel has died,
The ships left the port.
Time to love, to doubt, to think and fight,
to live without the past.

But candombe does not forget,
and is reborn in every wound
drum stick, with soul and life.

Chorus
The candombe of oblivion,
Maybe if I ask you for a souvenir,
give me back what I lost.

Flowing time, an overhead light
plummets at Momo's party,
flowing torrent time;
The drums arrive through Isla de Flores.

Green fire, flare,
of your hoarse drums
from the South, embroidered silk ceilings.

Chorus
Green fire, flare,
of your hoarse drums
from the South, embroidered silk ceilings.

Roll and roll to infinity,
candombe is not a scream,
you sing and you don't dance, lailaraila...

Chorus
That is danced and not sung,
candombe is a plant that grows,
and even the sky shakes.

He only sings because he can
and forget what he wants,
the song does not kill him or hurt him.

Chorus
Blue flower in a can,
silver lightning,
life does not hurt him or kill him.

He loves again and doesn't get tired,
life is not enough,
Death is a naive riddle.

Chorus
Green fire, flare,
of your hoarse drums of the South,
embroidered silk ceilings.
Lalalailala, lailaraila...

* In the second version (Montevideo, 1984), instead of saying "Where will those shoes be," it says "Where will those shoes be?"
** In the first editions, probably for reasons of lack of disk space, the following three stanzas do not appear.