Paroles et traduction Samuel Castriota, Adriana Varela & Leopoldo Federico - Mi noche triste - ed. by L. Federico

Mi noche triste - ed. by L. Federico

Percanta que me amuraste .
En lo mejor de mi vida,
Dejándome el alma herida
Y espinas en el corazón,
Sabiendo que te quería,
Que vos eras mi alegría
Y mi sueño abrasador,
Para mí ya no hay consuelo
Y por eso me encurdelo
Pa'olvidarme de tu amor.

De noche, cuando me acuesto
No puedo cerrar la puerta,
Porque dejándola abierta
Me hago ilusión que volvés.
Siempre traigo bizcochitos
Pa tomar con matecitos
Como si estabas vos,
Y si vieras la catrera
Cómo se pone cabrera
Cuando no nos ve a los dos.

Ya no hay en el bulín
Aquellos lindos frasquitos
Adornados con moñitos
Todos de un mismo color.
El espejo está empañado
Si parece que ha llorado
Por la ausencia de tu amor.

Cuando voy a mi cotorro
Y lo veo desarreglado,
Todo triste, abandonado,
Me dan ganas de llorar;
Me detengo largo rato
Campaneando tu retrato
Pa poderme consolar.

La guitarra, en el ropero
Todavía está colgada:
Nadie en ella canta nada
Ni hace sus cuerdas vibrar.
Y la lámpara del cuarto
También tu ausencia ha sentido
Porque su luz no ha querido
Mi noche triste alumbrar.

My Sad Night - ed. by L. Federico

My dear, you loved me then,
In the prime of my life,
Leaving my soul wounded
And thorns in my heart,
Knowing that I loved you,
That you were my joy
And my burning dream,
For me, there is no more comfort
And so I drown myself
To forget your love.

At night, when I go to bed
I can't close the door,
Because by leaving it open
I have the illusion that you'll come back.
I always bring biscuits
To have with mate
As if you were here,
And if you saw the bed
See how it gets sulky
When it doesn't see us both.

There are no more in the room
Those beautiful little bottles
Decorated with ribbons
All of the same color.
The mirror is fogged up
It seems as if it has cried
In the absence of your love.

When I go to my attic
And see it in disarray,
All sad and abandoned,
It makes me want to cry;
I stop for a long time
Looking at your portrait
So I can comfort myself.

The guitar, in the closet
Is still hanging there:
Nobody sings anything on it anymore
Nor makes its strings vibrate.
And the lamp in the room
Has also felt your absence
Because its light has not wanted to
Illuminate my sad night.