La Yerba Mora
Los Chalchaleros
The Black Herb
They say
They say the black herb
Descends
Descends from the clear water...
Why
Why do you want me now
If you're going to
If you're going to forget me tomorrow.
You got married, dove, lady,
Without telling me;
There are enough sorrows, lady,
To kill me...
That's how my luck must be, lady,
To love you.
To the pier
To the pier I went with her,
In conversation
In conversation the two of us...
There went
There went my laments
When she
When she said goodbye.
Loves and pains, lady,
Take away sleep...
I, since I don't have them, lady,
That's why I sleep.
Now if, when, lady,
I live in torment...
