Azabache
Homero Expósito
Jet Black
Candombe! Candombe black!
Nostalgia for Buenos Aires
through the streets of San Telmo
it’s shaking up the street!
It echoes with blood and graves
thud of graves and blood!...
Slave's cry of memory
from old Buenos Aires...
Oh... oh... oh!...
Oh... oh... oh!...
Oh, dark girl, your eyes
shine like jet black light!...
Your skin glows like a dream
a dream of chocolate!...
Oh, your curls that tremble
that tremble like the drums!...
Oh, dark girl, I want you...
want you to kiss me!...
Oh... oh... oh!...
Oh... oh... oh!...
Candombe! Candombe black!
Pain that warms the air!
Through the streets of forgetfulness
your sighs lingered!...
It echoes with blood and graves
thud of graves and blood!...
And it gets lost in the memories
of old Buenos Aires...
Oh... oh... oh!...
Oh... oh... oh!...
Candombe! Candombe black!
Nostalgia for the poor...
Through the streets of San Telmo
the candombe has been lost...
Oh... oh... oh!...
Oh... oh... oh!...
