La Bailarina

If in the cacharpayas, a guitar is heard,
the elf falls in love with her heart.
She dances without shame, becomes zamba,
until the sun rises.
A dreamlike profile, her waist,
she carries her figure, mystery in her walk.
With a handkerchief she plays with her hair,
that seems to fly.
A woman and a zamba, love trap,
unmatched, dances dancer,
red carnival flower.
Her way of dancing burns me,
dance dancer, the night is already leaving.
In flames, because of her way of dancing,
she knows I watch her, she knows I want her.
That's why I sing for her with all my voice,
and her handkerchief, white dove,
says to me; goodbye, goodbye.
I suffer if she moves away in the whole turn,
I live if she returns in a turn maybe.
And after the flight of her skirt,
my suffering wanders.