Con La Frente Marchita

With a Wrinkled Forehead

Sitting in a circle we snacked on kisses and joints
And the hours passed quickly between the smoke and laughter
You were dying to come back with a wrinkled forehead sang Gardel
And among Borges' quotes, Evita danced with Freud
It has rained since that downpour until today

Every Sunday I went to your stall at the flea market to buy
Bread crumb carriages, tin soldiers
With water from an Andalusian sea, I wanted to make you fall in love
But you had no love other than that of the Rio de la Plata

The storm lasted until the eighties
Then the sun dried the clothes of old Europe
There is no worse nostalgia than yearning for what never happened
Send me a postcard from San Telmo, goodbye take care
And the train whistle sounded between you and me

Every Sunday I went to your stall at the flea market to buy
Bread crumb dolls, tin horses
With water from an Andalusian sea, I wanted to make you fall in love
But you had no other love than that of the Rio de la Plata

Those flags of the homeland of spring
To tell me that forgetting exists have come tonight
You wore that beret so well, Che style
Buenos Aires is as you described, today I went for a walk
And upon reaching Plaza de Mayo, I started to cry
And I began to shout, where are you?

And I never returned to your stall at the flea market to buy
Bread crumb hearts, tin hats
And no one writes to me saying I can't forget you
I wish you were with me in the Rio de la Plata
And I never returned to your stall at the flea market to buy
Bread crumb carriages, tin soldiers