Vidalita Porteña
María Elena Walsh
Porteño Blues
It gives me sadness
This smell of nobody
So anciently
Poor Buenos Aires
Modest silences
Rise from the street
And they are similar
To hospitals
In front of a window
They become cowards
Quite human
And even some angels
In an ashtray
Fits a catastrophe
For example, a comb
Represents prison
It seems unbelievable
But what a disaster
It is to see the leaves
Leaving the trees
These things happen
Anyone knows it
Autumns are
Criminals
There was no war here
Just a tribute
To frequent victims
Of tango and air
Even the walls
Feel guilty
No one imagines
What Buenos Aires is
