Tango Lyrics in Spanish and English



LA ULTIMA CURDA

The last drunkenness (1956)
Nena



Roberto Goyeneche
with Astor Piazzolla
Courtesy of Adrian Ocneanu
Music by: Anibal Troilo
Lyrics by: Catulo Castillo
Translated by: Adrian Ocneanu
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Last update on: 5/2/07


Watch Edmundo Rivero
A man speaks of his disillusionment with the pain and briefness of life, and of the soothing effect of liquor, in which he looks for death, the ultimate drunkenness.


Version en castellano English translation
Lastima, bandoneón, mi corazón
tu ronca maldición maleva...
Tu lágrima de ron me lleva
hasta el hondo bajo fondo
donde el barro se subleva.

¡Ya sé, no me digás! ¡Tenés razón!
La vida es una herida absurda,
y es todo todo tan fugaz
que es una curda, ¡nada más!
mi confesión.

Contame tu condena,
decime tu fracaso,
¿no ves la pena que me ha herido?
Y hablame simplemente
de aquel amor ausente
tras un retazo del olvido.
¡Ya se que me hace daño.
¡Yo sé que te lastimo!
llorando mi sermón de vino!
Pero es el viejo amor
que tiembla, bandoneón,
y busca en un licor que aturda,
la curda que al final
termine la función
corriéndole un telón al corazón.

Un poco de recuerdo y sinsabor
gotea tu rezongo lerdo.
Marea tu licor y arrea
la tropilla de la zurda
al volcar la última curda.
Cerrame el ventanal
que quema el sol
su lento caracol de sueño,
¿no ves que vengo de un país
que está de olvido, siempre gris,
tras el alcohol?...
My heart, bandoneon, is hurt
by your maliciously groaning curse.
Your tears of rum take me
to the deep underworld
where the mud is in upheaval.

I know, don't tell me! You are right!
Life is an absurd wound,
and it is all so fleeting
that it is a drunkenness, nothing more!
my confession.

Tell me of my sentence,
tell me your failure,
don't you see the pain that has wounded me?
And speak simply to me
about that absent love
in search of a fragment of oblivion
I know that it harms me!
I know that I hurt you
crying my wine sermon
But it's the old love
that trembles, bandoneon,
and searches in a liquor that stuns
the drunkenness that at the end
ends the show,
drawing a curtain over the heart.

A little bit of remembrance and nausea
is dripping with your slow moan.
Your liquor dizzies and prods
the heartbeat [lit: the little heard on the left]
with the strain of the last drunkenness.
Close the window;
the sun burns
its slow snail of sleep,
Don't you see that I come from a land
of oblivion, forever gray,
behind the alcohol?...


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