Mano a Mano

Wrapped up in my sadness, I think of you today and see that you’ve been
in my poor, struggling life, just a good woman;
your presence brought warmth to my nest,
you were kind, consistent, and I know you loved me
like you never loved anyone else, like you never will again.

The game of survival played out, when you, poor girl,
were dodging poverty in that boarding house;
today you’re a real catch, life smiles and sings for you,
you toss the cash from the fool to the street vendor
like a cat plays with a miserable mouse.

Now you’ve got your cup full of empty dreams,
you’ve been fooled by the fools, the friends, the big shot;
the tango among the big shots with their crazy temptations
where the tango dancers’ ambitions rise and fall
has sunk deep into your poor heart.

I owe you nothing, we’re even now,
I don’t care what you’ve done, what you do, or what you’ll do;
the favors I received, I think I’ve paid you back,
and if I’ve forgotten a small debt without meaning to,
charge it to the fool’s tab if you want.

In the meantime, may your fleeting triumphs,
pitiful, passing victories,
be a long line of riches and pleasure;
may the guy who’s got you have lasting cash,
and may you shine at the stops with shady tango hustlers,
and may the guys say: "She’s a good woman."

And tomorrow, when you’re just a worn-out old piece of furniture
and have no hopes left in your poor heart;
if you need help, if you need advice,
remember this friend who will risk it all
to help you in any way I can, when the time comes.