Con la frente marchita [English translation]

Sitting in a circle, picnicking, with kisses, the dope,

and time passed so quickly through the fumes and laughter.

You were dying to return with a withered face, sang Gardel,

and from Borges' quotes, he danced with Evita.

It's been raining from that downpour since today!

Every Sunday I went to the market,

To buy you honeyed breadcrumbs, the little tin soldiers.

And with the Andalusian sea water, I wanted to fall in love with you,

But you've got no more love than the River Plate.

That storm lasted well into the eighties,

when the sun was drying out clothes in old Europe.

There is no worse nostalgia than longing for something which never ever happened:

"Send me a postcard from San Telmo, goodbye and take care,"

and the train whistled between you and I.

Every Sunday I went to the market,

To buy you honeyed breadcrumbs, the little tin soldiers.

And with the Andalusian sea water, I wanted to fall in love with you,

But you've got no more love than the River Plate.

Those flags of our homeland in spring,

told me that the coming of forgetting tonight had arisen;

you felt so good, with that beret in the style of Che Guevara,

Buenos Aires is like counting. Today I went out for a walk,

and arriving in the Plaza de Mayo, I took to crying.

And it made me shout out, "where are you"?

And I won't return to the market anymore,

to buy you honeyed breadcrumbs, the little tin soldiers.

And so far, nobody has written to me saying "I still haven't forgotten you, I wished you were with me by the River Plate."

So I won't return to the market anymore,

to buy you honeyed breadcrumbs, the little tin soldiers.