Amansando Soledades

Where will my friend be, Romero, the one with the guitar
Who gave it to me for nothing, just in case I liked it

To make a shot at the fuzzy and knotted belly
Little string of three colors, black white and red

With a big box and a sacrificed voice
That said from inside: It's better not to say anything
If by not raising the tone my soul will be gagged

He who doesn't know where he is shouldn't pick up a guitar
How much it cost me to find the reason for his arrogance
I even felt compassion for some distant tear
That crossed his back
As if a rake had bitten his lung
So he wouldn't breathe anymore

I found out about his past because he told me one afternoon
If we're going to walk together, I'll know how to walk with you
I don't know if it was because of talking that I didn't know how to ask him
How far he would be able or willing to accompany me

I was very young... And she was a great muse
Sometimes among the willows when the evening came... (whistle)

I was a troubadour taming solitudes
And my guitar was a wind among the bedclothes
Sometimes it blew hard and brought me who knows from where
Tired rains galloping in the air
Other times it shrank like the Sun among the clouds
And it was a single twisted and lustful whirlwind

I, I couldn't know what she wanted to teach me
At first I felt her as something from somewhere
Different from the things one has to take
When, well, when you move from your hometown and don't know if you'll return

Because one, one doesn't know anything, but knows something
Anyone can die and that's a reason not to be bitter

But to die senselessly for being born in vain
Is almost worse, if I'm not mistaken, than being angry and silent

And so it happened with dreams, with loneliness and hunger
With truth in hands and reason turned into blood
That I sang throughout the land, and in case someone doesn't know
There were those who got confused and threw an ombú inside my mate

But there were also compliments in quantities
For the singing, for the verse, or the leagues of a phrase
That fell asleep among the branches of a willow
To the lullaby of a silence repeated with anxieties

And according to the heart, everything was for the guitar
And a shy A minor with a taste of Pampa milonga
That settled in my hands and rebelled in my soul
And that only bows before God and my only, blue and white

That's why where will my friend be, the one with the guitar
Who gave it to me for nothing, just in case I liked it

My old friend Romero, all my song sings to you
The sad of my pain and the width of my hope

And the one I will never sing will be to honor the race
Of men like you, singers of high verses