Zamba del Pañuelo

If you look at the long roads
Where my sad trace went
You will see that it stained its flowers
With my living suffering's blood

If you listen to my sweet guitar
You will dream of yourself asleep in it
Your shadow will be a handkerchief
Over the zamba that is already leaving

If walking, walking, girl
One day my eyes see you pass by
The tears I am crying
Will bloom in the pathways

My voice and yours, lost
Go to oblivion for yesterday
My sorrow, like a handkerchief
Cries in the zamba its evening

My sorrow and your slow memory
Because you don't love me, they already love each other
My sorrow gives it its sorrows
And your memory its loneliness