La Que Murió En París
Héctor Pedro Blomberg
The One Who Died in Paris
I know you still remember the lost neighborhood,
That Buenos Aires that saw us leave,
That in your cold lips still tremble the tangos
That in Paris you sang before you died.
The autumn rain soaked the chestnuts,
But you weren't on the boulevard anymore...
Little Creole girl with the black eyes,
Your sleeping lips will never sing again.
They’re always waiting for you
Back in the happy neighborhood,
But it’s always snowing
On your dream, in Paris.
Dove, how you coughed
That winter, when you arrived...
Like a tango you were dying
On the cold boulevard...
Wrapped in my poncho, you shivered from the cold
Watching the snow fall endlessly.
You searched for my hands, singing, in your fever,
The tango that always made me cry.
You talked to me about the neighborhood you’d never see,
About our loves and a carnival...
And I looked at you... Paris and the snow
Were killing you, flower of my slum.
And so one night you left
Down the cold boulevard,
Like an old, sad tango
That no one will sing anymore.
They’re always waiting for you
Back in the happy neighborhood,
But it’s always snowing
On your dream, in Paris.
