A woman that, at former times,
Was the most attractive tango dancer,
And that, at those nights of tango,
Was the queen of the night,
Today, does not have a cent
To afford shoes or dresses.
She is ill and her lover from long times
Has never headed to her room again
She no longer has those large eyes of hers,
Those that were like resplendent stars.
The colors on her face
Are gradually turning pale.
She's ill, she's in pain and cries,
She feeds herself, taken by the feel that
No one will ever fall in love with her again,
Seeing her state, weak and hopeless
Poor lady - whom, yesterday,
The world oohed and whistled at,
And who, with her gaze, knew
How to earn the heart of a man
Today has no one that, in a kindly gesture,
Would warm her sheets
Poor unrefined lady -
Has lost her heart for ever
And now when the accordions
Entone the notes of a tango,
Poor little flower of the mud
Feels with her soul the vibration
Of nostalgia for the former times,
Times of pleasures and romances,
That now taste bittersweet,
Sending tears to her eyes