Текст и перевод песни Carlos Gardel - El Almohado´n

El Almohado´n

Una mano despiadada
Tal vez con maldad profunda
Vino a romperme la funda
De mi querido almohadón
Dejando tanta tristeza
Al mirar la rotura
Que se llena de amargura
Mi sensible corazón

Me entristezco en ella
Yo, con cariño ferviente
Y acaricié dulcemente
Su semblante juvenil
En ella absorbí el aliento
De su boca tan preciosa
Perfumada cual la rosa
De una mañana de abril

En esa funda querida
Donde se han marcado flores
Alcancé de mis amores
El fruto que ambicioné
Allí reclinó su frente
Ella como un tierno niño
Y yo con dulce cariño
En los labios la besé

Allí pude extasiarme
Contemplándola dormida
A la mujer que en la vida
Fue a endulzar mi dolor
Escuchando al despertarme
De sus labios purpurinos
Como de un ave, los trinos
Bellas palabras de amor

Pobre funda, tú que fuiste
De mi amor el confidente
Vino esa mano, inclemente
Tu tejido a desgarrar
Más como eres insensible
Y nada sabes sentir
Así te dejaste herir
Sin una queja exhalar

Tú perdonarla no puedes
A la mano que te ha herido
Porque eres de tejido
Y no tienes corazón
Mas yo como tengo un alma
Donde no existen rencores
Sufro por ti los dolores
Y por ti doy el perdón

El Almohado´n

A ruthless hand,
Perhaps with malicious intent,
Came to tear the cover
Of my beloved pillow
Leaving me with great sadness
As I behold the tear
That fills my sensitive heart
With bitterness.

I am saddened by it
I, with affection so fervent
And caressed her gently,
Your youthful face
From her I absorbed the breath
From her mouth so precious
Perfumed like a rose
On an April morning

In that cherished cover,
Where flowers have been etched,
I reached the fruit of my loves
That I had longed for
There she reclined her forehead
She, like a tender child
And with sweet affection
I kissed her on the lips.

There I could be enraptured
Contemplating her asleep
The woman who in life
Came to sweeten my sorrow.
Listening as I awoke
From her crimson lips,
Like a bird, the trills,
Beautiful words of love.

Poor cover, you who were
The confidant of my love,
That hand came, mercilessly
To tear your fabric apart.
But as you are insensitive
And you know nothing of feeling,
So you let yourself be hurt
Without uttering a complaint.

You cannot forgive her
The hand that has hurt you,
Because you are made of fabric
And you have no heart.
But as I have a soul
Where there is no resentment,
I suffer for you the pain
And for you I grant forgiveness.