Hablando de Marlén

Talking about Marlén, no one remembers the day she lost her voice,
or if it was she who stopped talking.
She was often seen with a piece of gray slate
hanging from her belt,
sometimes there was something to say.

They made her born among mist and coal
somewhere in the mining basin,
but already at a very young age someone brought her to the North,
and here she lived until the end ...
here she lived until the end ...

Marlén started working at night in a club,
Hurricane 72, for a few bucks and a room.
Some around there knew her well,
they said 'Come, mute girl, make me happy.
Come and, since you don't speak, suck here'.

I think I saw her one afternoon in the middle of winter,
lying on San Lorenzo beach,
drawing with two fingers in the sand and facing the wind
something that the sea erased ...
something that the sea erased ...

I remember her passing by, dried blood on her nose,
and how we laughed and laughed.
One day we stopped seeing her,
and I don't think anyone asked.
And how we laughed.

A month passed without anyone missing her,
and someone found her hanging in her room,
and she had written on the slate these last words:
'Goodbye, Northerner, forget me' ...
'Goodbye, Northerner, forget me' ...