Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song La Ultima Curda, artist - Astor Piazzolla.
Date of issue: 31.05.2014
Song language: Spanish
La Ultima Curda(original) |
Lástima, bandoneón, mi corazón, |
tu ronca maldición maleva |
tu lágrima de ron me lleva |
hacia el hondo bajofondo |
donde el barro se subleva. |
Ya sé, no me digás, tenés razón, |
la vida es una herida absurda |
y es todo, todo tan fugaz |
que es una curda, nada más, |
mi confesión. |
Contáme tu condena, decíme tu fracaso, |
no ves la pena que me digo, |
y habláme simplemente |
de aquel amor ausente |
que es un retazo del olvido. |
Yo sé que te lastimo, yo sé que te hago daño |
contando mi sermón de vino, |
pero es el viejo amor que tiembla, bandoneón, |
buscando en un licor que aturda |
la curda que al final |
termina la función |
corriéndole un telón |
al corazón. |
Un poco de recuerdo y sin sabor |
gotea su rezongo lerdo, |
marea tu licor y arrea la tropilla de la zurda |
al volcar la última curda. |
Cerráme el ventanal que quema el sol |
su lento caracol de sueño |
no ves que vengo de un país |
que está de olvido, siempre gris, |
tras el alcohol. |
(translation) |
Pity, bandoneon, my heart, |
your hoarse evil curse |
your tear of rum takes me |
into the deep underworld |
where the mud rises. |
I know, don't tell me, you're right, |
life is an absurd wound |
and it's all, all so fleeting |
which is a curda, nothing more, |
My confession. |
Tell me your sentence, tell me your failure, |
you do not see the pity that I tell myself, |
and just talk to me |
of that absent love |
which is a piece of oblivion. |
I know that I hurt you, I know that I hurt you |
recounting my wine sermon, |
but it is the old love that trembles, bandoneon, |
looking in a liquor that stuns |
the curda that in the end |
end the function |
pulling down a curtain |
to the heart. |
A bit of memory and no taste |
drips his sluggish grumbling, |
dizzy your liquor and herd the herd of the lefty |
when overturning the last curda. |
Close the window that burns the sun |
his slow dream snail |
Can't you see that I come from a country |
that is forgotten, always gray, |
after the alcohol. |