Mi vieja viola
Alfredo Zitarrosa
My Old Guitar
Old guitar, streetwise and vibrating
from the hours of revelry and drinks,
from the many serenades to the parrot
who now owns my heart and rules the hangout,
how abandoned and silent you are,
after being my singer's dream!
Whoever heard you play, dad and melodious,
doesn't say you're the goddess of my poor heart.
The throat is drying up
and fame is just a tale,
going wrong and without luck
everything, everything is over...
Today only the memory remains
of past joys,
but there you are, my guitar,
until I leave.
How many nights under the protection of the left arm
I carried you to shield you from the night dew
and even though I was feeling good and drunk,
keeping myself in line, I kept you away from other drunks.
If the years of life shape me
and fate pushes me to straighten up,
I swear I'll change your strings
I'll sober up from the booze and make you sound again.
