Cuando Me Hablan Del Destino

I was a boss in the scene
I was overflowing with adrenaline
I presented myself in Corrientes
I had a box at the Colón
I drove a convertible
I didn't skimp on tips
The impossible fantasies
Of others were my routine
The woman hadn't been born
Who would tell me no

But darn it, on a twenty-ninth
Of that leap year February
I found myself spending a Thursday
On a station bench
With nothing but what I was wearing
No credit card, no blanket
The rats fleeing the ship
From the portrait of my daughters
They stole everything, even the frame
Thinking it was art deco

The chorus girls and the parties
Disappeared with the money
The guys from the bar
Didn't even throw me a rope
Charly didn't have a detail
Nor Fito a 'what do you need?'
When, at the end of the street
I broke my caricature
Not even the garbage truck
Had a mattress for me

I dialed the beloved movicón
Of an angora kitty
I didn't bother the lady
The answering machine answered

And I learned that being broke
Is not Dante's hell
Nor a brilliant resume
Aladdin's lamp
When they talk to me about destiny
I change the subject

Rosy mirages
No longer furrow my brow
Nor do they charge me rent
The women I forgot
Under the Sun that stabs me
I live without a homeland or owner
Like the air they give away
And I never pawn my soul
With the leftovers of my dreams
I have enough to eat

What do I have to regret?
The blood boils in my veins
Every day when I wake up
I like to come back to life
Whoever wants to join me
I exchange verses for sorrows
Under the bridges of the Seine
For those who lose their way
You sleep without a passport
And it's frowned upon to cry