Zamba Del Pañuelo

If you look at the long roads
where my sad trace went
you will see that it stained its flowers
with my suffering's living blood.

If you listen to my sweet guitar
it will dream of you asleep
your shadow will be a handkerchief
over the zamba that is already leaving.

If walking, walking, girl
one day my eyes see you pass by
the tears I am crying
will bloom on the paths.

My voice and yours, lost
are forgotten by yesterday
my sorrow like a handkerchief
cries in the zamba its evening.

My sorrow and your slow memory
because you don't love me, they already love each other
my sorrow gives it its sorrows
and your memory its loneliness.