Azabache

Candombe! Black candombe!
Nostalgia of Buenos Aires
Through the streets of San Telmo
It comes shaking the street!

It resounds with blood and tomb
Confusion of tomb and blood!...
Slave cry of memory
Of old Buenos Aires...
Oh... Oh... oh!...
Oh... Oh... oh!...

Oh, little dark one, your eyes
Are like jet light!...
Your face seems like a dream
A chocolate dream!...

Oh, your hips that tremble
That tremble like the drums!...
Oh, little dark one, I would...
I would like to kiss you!...
Oh... Oh... oh!...
Oh... Oh... oh!...

Candombe! Black candombe!
Pain that warms the air!
Through the streets of oblivion
Your moans were entertained!...

It resounds with blood and tomb
Confusion of tomb and blood!...
And it gets lost in the memories
Of old Buenos Aires...
Oh... Oh... oh!...
Oh... Oh... oh!...

Candombe! Black candombe!
Nostalgia of poor people...
Through the streets of San Telmo
The candombe has already been lost...
Oh... Oh... oh!...
Oh... Oh... oh!...