Viejo coche

Viejo coche, que cuando era
un muchacho calavera
de madrugada ocupé...
Si por pura fantasía
de la milonga salía
y a Palermo me tiré.

Eras nuevo y lustroso
y tu buen caballo brioso
por el centro te lució.
¡Viejo coche, quién diría,
que a la larga rodarías
como también rodé yo!

Te acordás de aquella noche
cochero que me quisiste,
qué contento te pusiste
porque un cariño encontré.
Y aquella otra que apenado
me dijiste: 'Vea, niño,
hace un rato su cariño
en otro coche se fue'.

De mis pilchas, te pasaba
de aquellas que ya no usaba,
toda ropa de valor.
Si una fija me corría
muchas veces, si podía,
te llevaba un ganador.

Donde quiera que paraba
a tomar te convidaba
a mi lado un copetín.
Yo tenía mucho vento,
vos sabés que eso no es cuento
ni me dejarás mentir.

Y el pasado me ha quedado
como un recuerdo grabado
de mis éxitos de ayer.
¡Pero abierta está la herida
de la leyenda fngida
que me contó esa mujer!
Como vos, viejo cochero,
resignado sólo espero
lo que la suerte dirá.
Esperando que la vida
eche su última partida
para poderla copar.

Ya después en la carpeta,
al llegar la madrugada,
vos estabas de parada
para llevarme a dormir.
Y al tranco de tu caballo,
ya también viejo y cansado,
éramos naipes marcados
en el monte del vivir.

English translation

Old car, that when I was
a skull boy
in the early hours of the morning I occupied...
If by pure fantasy
I left the milonga
and to Palermo I threw myself.

You were new and shiny
and your good spirited horse
you shone in the middle of the city.
Old carriage, who would have thought
that in the long run you would roll
as I also rolled!

Do you remember that night
coachman you loved me,
how happy you were
because I found a sweetheart.
And that other night when you said to me
you told me: 'Look, kid,
a while ago your sweetheart
left in another car'.

Of my pilchas, I passed on to you
of those I no longer wore,
all clothes of value.
If a fixed one ran me
many times, if I could,
I would bring you a winner.

Wherever I stopped
to drink I would invite you
a drink next to me.
I had a lot of wind,
you know that's not a story
and you won't let me lie.

And the past has stayed with me
as an engraved memory
of my yesterday's successes.
But the wound is open
of the legend fngida
that woman told me!
Like you, old coachman,
resigned I only wait
what fate will tell.
Waiting for life
will play its last game
so that I can take it.

Already later in the folder,
when the dawn came,
you were standing
to take me to sleep.
And at the stride of your horse
already old and tired too,
we were marked cards
on the mountain of living.