Tatuaje

He came on a ship, with a foreign name.
I found him at the port one evening,
when the white lighthouse over the sailboats
was dropping its silver kiss.
He was beautiful and blond like beer,
his chest tattooed with a heart,
in his bitter voice, there was the sorrow
painful and tired of the accordion.

And before two glasses of brandy
on the stained counter,
he was telling me under his breath
the old story of his love:
Look at my tattooed arm
with this woman's name,
it's the memory of the past
that will never return.

She loved me and forgot me,
instead, I didn't forget her
and forever I am marked
with this woman's name.

He left one afternoon, with an unknown destination,
on the same ship that brought him to me
but between my lips, he left forgotten,
a lover's kiss that I asked of him.
Wandering, I search for him in all the ports,
I ask the sailors about him,
and no one tells me if he's alive or dead
and I continue in my doubt, faithfully searching for him.

And I bleed slowly
from counter to counter,
in front of a glass of brandy
where my pain drowns.
Listen to me sailor,
and tell me what you know about him,
he was gallant and haughty,
and he was blonder than honey.

Look at his foreign name
written here, on my skin.
If you find him sailor,
tell him that I, am dying for him