Amurado

I ring the bell at my catrera and find it desolate;
All I have as a memory is the little picture that is there;
Old clothes, some flowers, and my tormented soul,
That's all that's left since she left here.

An afternoon sadder than the sorrow that afflicts me,
She packed her little bag and left me sulking.
I didn't say a word, not a reproach, not a complaint,
I watched her walk away and thought... It's all over!

If she saw me, I'm so old,
My head is white,
Is it perhaps the sadness
Of my black loneliness?
Or is it because I'm plagued
By such lousy whims
Of going to the cafes
To seek happiness...

Little room that knows my bitter misfortunes,
Don't be surprised that I talk to myself... My pain is so great!
If I lack her caresses, her comforts, her tenderness,
What is left for me in my old age if my life is in her love?

How many nights I wander, anguished, silent,
Remembering my past with my friend, illusion;
I go on a bender, I don't deny it, which will be very shameful,
But I bring my poor heart more on a bender