| Buenos Aires has a corner
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| in a forbidden garden,
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| a certain piazzola, friend of a sparrow
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| that lends the nest
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| to see silver sunrise
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| of golden sunset, of dawn,
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| a woman's look
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| Does Buenos Aires have what do I know...
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| and a poem written
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| a verse I remember from a goodbye
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| and what I dedicate
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| to that character who sang
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| there is so much wounded tango… He goes for Gardel!
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| Burn, burn, your name burns my voice
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| Buenos Aires hurt me
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| I think of you so much in my soft memories,
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| But it will go, but it will go, but it will go
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| that feeling, it arrives, loneliness arrives
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| let me dream
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| with your bitter sips,
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| that today I have a porteño heart
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| I want the Buenos Aires that flew
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| of a cold mirror
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| of a dawn gesticulating love
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| bringing a book to life
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| Of currents nothing in the heat,
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| and in cold alleys
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| Buenos Aires has a love that was mine
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| It has Buenos Aires, what do I know and a written poem
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| a verse I remember from a goodbye
|
| and what I dedicate
|
| to that character who sang
|
| so much hurt tango…
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| Burn, burn your name, burn my voice
|
| Buenos Aires hurt me
|
| I take you here
|
| in my soft memories...
|
| But it will go, you'll see, it will go
|
| that feeling
|
| loneliness arrives, loneliness arrives
|
| let me dream
|
| with your bitter sips
|
| let me dream, let me dream
|
| with your bitter bit by bit
|
| Burn, burn your name, burn my voice
|
| Buenos Aires hurt me
|
| I think of you so much in my soft memories
|
| But it will go away, but it will go away, that feeling
|
| loneliness arrives, loneliness arrives
|
| let me dream
|
| with your bitter sips
|
| and porteño the heart
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| To your side, to your side
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| I know I'm piantao
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| piantao, piantao in your hands. |