El pescante

Dark team trotting in the night.
Mocking whip of boast.
Buddying up in gray on the car
through the stones of Constitution.

In the left hand tied the rein,
he tamed the reddish wild horse.
And, like him, a hundred garments were tamed
under the brake of his pretension.

Let's go!...
loaded with shadow and memory.
Let's go!...
crossing the past.
Let's go!...
to the sound of your slow pace.
Let's go!...
on the way to forgotten time.
Let's go through old routines,
maybe from a corner
René will call us.
Let's go, in his adventures
I lived a madness
of love and Swiss.

Skinny crane operator working in the afternoon
out of breath from the tired whip.
Failed in his last boast
under the sun of Callao street.

The brim of his hat faded
he doesn't even whistle the old song,
for there are no love or travelers left
for the car of his heart.