I drink and I invite: order a swig,
that today, I must kill the memory;
without a friend, far from home,
I want, into your heart, my sorrow entrust.
Drink with me, and if, while singing,
my voice gets blurred once in a while,
is not that I cry because she deceives me,
I know that a real man shouldn't cry.
If the fields could talk, this Pampa would tell you 1.
how I loved her, how feverishly I adored her,
How many times, shaking, I have fallen on my knees
under the defoliated tree where I kissed her one day.
And, today, to see her degraded, surrendered to other arms,
it was for me like a stub, and the jealous, made me blind.
And I swear to you, I still can't believe
how could I control myself, and I didn't kill her then.
I drink and I invite: order a swig,
about women, better not talk,
all of them, my friend, pay back badly
and, today, my experience can assert it.
Take my advise, don't fall in love,
and if, at a time, it's your turn to fall for it,
strength, confound it, suffer and don't cry,
that a real man should't cry!