Los Hijos de Gardel

They began to dream of the return
At the main airport entrance
Suitcases full of illusions
Empty pockets and fear
They took in memory the obelisk
The silhouettes of Plaza Libertad
And in the middle of their chest, nostalgia
To open it as a gift on Christmas

The children of Gardel never thought
That returning was real
They clung to the place with pins
And left the suitcases unattended

Above all, they always speak in Uruguayan
Even if no one understands them, what does it matter?
And they practice detachment all the time
When they see that it's the same with their children
Every now and then we send them some photos
With the Rambla or Sarandí pedestrian street
To make their detachment from the country where they emigrated easier

But there are others who left without memories
Although their souls hurt almost the same
They only took the 'you' as stowaways
And left behind the 'you' and 'goodbye'
They have children in Paris, in Barcelona
Who know Uruguay from a postcard
At home, only another language is spoken
And their origin is only in the ID

The children of Gardel always knew
That the homeland is more than just identity
They held onto the place as best they could
And sent the suitcases to the attic