La última curda

Pity, bandoneon,
my heart
your hoarse, malevolent curse...
Your tear of rum
leads me
to the deep underworld
where the mud rebels.
I know, don't tell me! You're right!
Life is an absurd wound,
and everything is so fleeting
that it's just a drunk, nothing more!
my confession.

Tell me your sentence,
tell me your failure,
don't you see the sorrow
that has wounded me?
And simply speak to me
of that absent love
behind a scrap of oblivion.
I know I hurt you!
I know I harm you
by crying my sermon of wine!

But it's the old love
that trembles, bandoneon,
and seeks in the numbing liquor,
the drunk that in the end
finishes the show
pulling a curtain over the heart.
A little memory and bitterness
drips from your slow grumble.
Your liquor swirls and drives
the troop of the left
when pouring the last drunk.
Close the window
that the sun burns
its slow snail of dream,
don't you see that I come from a country
that is always gray from oblivion, after alcohol?...