Viejo ciego

With a little guide you come in the nights
bringing the complaints of the old violin,
and in the midst of the smoke
it looks like a puppet
your strange silhouette
of a skinny rocker.
Punctual parishioner so old and so blind,
as you go on unraveling your eternal song,
you put in the souls
old memories
and a little sorrow you mix with alcohol.

The day when your plaintive tangos are extinguished
the light of the alley will have smoke crepes
and there will be in the dirty cards a mysterious seal
and there will be in the simple souls a little emotion.

The day when the voice of your instrument will not be heard
when you leave your bones under a doorway
the retired bards, without false sentiment
with a 'canzonetta' will give you a funeral.

You sound like a verse
of crazy Carriego
you look like the soul
of the violin itself.
Punctual parishioner so old and so blind,
so full of sorrow, so full of splin.

When I hear your notes
I am invaded by the memory
of that girl
from long ago.

Let's see, old blind man
play a slow tango
very dull and very sad
I want to cry.