Slum bandoneón, old deflated wind-bag,
I found you like a baby that his mother abandoned
at the door of a convent without plaster on the walls,
to the light of a street lamp that, at night, enlightened you.
Bandoneón, because you see that I'm sad and I no longer sing,
you know that I carry a pain, engraved in my soul.
I took you to my room, I rocked you in my cold chest,
I also was abandoned in my date's room.
You have tried to comfort me with your hoarse voice
and your painful notes made greater my obsession.
Bandoneón, because you see that I'm sad and I no longer sing,
you know that I carry a pain, engraved in my soul.