La Mendiga
Luis Alberto Spinetta
The Beggar
Whistles and someone wanders in Balvanera
roams and moans and talks to herself
And what will be her place, her corner without a place?
seems to desire... seems to desire...
and tell me: wasn't your love predictable, after all,
when he left and hid from your eyes,
your starry eyes in the storm?
Roams and walks steps that no longer walk...
and looks ragged even though she has her cash
seems to float... seems to float
seems to float... uh!
and tell me: wasn't your love predictable, after all,
when he got tired and flew away with his wings, his stone wings among the crowd?
Now, the more I look at you, the more I am amazed
by the morning that doesn't show up in your hours
that don't pass or return,
and there's no one waiting for you ever...
and the morning that doesn't show up
and keeps showing up endlessly...
why even bother to think...!
Crosses straight lines, crosses and deviates
and no one laughs or talks when she gets agitated
she screams and doesn't scream... she screams and doesn't scream
she screams and doesn't scream... uh!
and tell me: wasn't your love predictable, after all,
only this time, when it woke up like a lightning bolt,
a bolt of forgetfulness and stayed there...?
