| I whistle in my sadness, today I evoke you and I see that you have been
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| in my poor life only a good woman pariah;
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| your cool presence put heat in my nest,
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| you were good, consistent, and I know you loved me
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| like you didn't love anyone, like you won't be able to love.
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| The game of remanye occurred when you, poor percanta,
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| you evaded poverty in the boarding house;
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| today you are a real cool, life laughs at you and sings,
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| the morlacos of the otario you throw them to the march
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| how the maula cat plays with the miserable mouse.
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| Today you have mate full of unhappy illusions:
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| the otarians, the friends, the gabion, grouped you
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| the milonga between tycoons with its crazy temptations
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| where milonga pretensions triumph and surrender
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| it has entered deep into your poor heart.
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| I have nothing to thank you for, hand in hand we have stayed
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| I do not care what you have done, what you do or what you will do;
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| I think I have repaid the favors received
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| and if I accidentally forgot some small debt
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| In the account of the notary that you have, you load it.
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| Meanwhile, may your triumphs, poor passing triumphs,
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| be a long line of riches and pleasure;
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| that the bacán that sleeps you has lasting weights,
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| that you open up at the stops with cafishios milongueros,
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| and let the boys say: «she is a good woman».
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| And tomorrow, when you are misplaced old furniture
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| and do not have hopes in the poor heart,
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| if you need help, if you need advice,
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| remember this friend who has to risk his skin
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| to help you in whatever way I can when the time comes. |