Montmartre de Hoy

Alone in the night, I'm crossing
Through a street in old Paris.
Porteño and rante, I'm a tango lover
And anchored far from my country.

I cross dreaming Plaza Pigalle,
Suddenly I hear the feeling
Of listening sentimentally
To the hoarse voice of a bandoneón.

Echoes of tangos along Rue Fontaine,
Sprites of arolas next to a bistro.
In the Florida, Gardel sings.
Pizarro carves from the hock.

That Montmartre no longer exists
Neighborhood of tangos and rendezvous.
The mist advances from the boulevard
Over my dreams of youth.