Vieja pared
del arrabal,
tu sombra fue
mi compañera.
De mi niñez
sin esplendor
la amiga fue
tu madreselva.
Cuando temblando
mi amor primero,
con su esperanza
besa mi alma,
yo junto a vos,
pura y feliz,
cantaba asi
mi primera confesion.
Madreselvas en flor
que me vieron nacer
y en la vieja pared
sorprendieron mi amor.
Tu humilde caricia
es como el cariño
primero y querido
que siento por el.
Madreselvas en flor
que trepandose van,
es tu brazo tenaz
y dulzon como aquel.
Si todos los años
tus flores renacen
hace que no muera
mi primer amor.
Pasaron los años
y mis desengaños
yo vengo a contarte
mi vieja pared...
Asi aprendi
que hay que fingir
para vivir
decentemente,
que amor y fe
mentiras son
y del dolor
se rie la gente...
Hoy que la vida
me ha castigado
y me ha enseñado
su credo amargo,
vieja pared,
con emocion
me acerco a vos
y te digo como ayer.
Madreselvas en flor
que me vieron nacer
y en la vieja pared
sorprendieron mi amor.
Tu humilde caricia
es como el cariño
primero y sentido
que nunca olvide.
Madreselvas en flor
que trepandose van,
es tu abrazo tenaz
y dulzon como aquel.
Si todos los años
tus flores renacen,
por que ya no vuelve
mi primer amor..? |
Old wall
of the suburb,
your shadow was
my partner.
From my childhood
without splendor,
your honeysuckle
was my friend.
When trembling,
my first love
with its hope
kisses my soul,
I, next to you,
pure and happy,
was singing
my first confession.
Blooming honeysuckles
that saw me being born
and on the old wall
surprised my love.
Your humble caress
is like the affection,
the first one and dear,
that I feel for him.
Blooming honeysuckles
that go on climbing,
your arm is firm
and sweet like his.
If every year
your flowers bloom again,
don't let die
my first love.
The years went by
and so did my desillusions
I come to confide in you
my old wall.
This way I learned
that one has to fake
to live
a decent life,
that love and faith
are lies
and people
laughs at pain...
Today that life
has punished me
and has taught me
its bitter creed,
old wall,
with emotion
I come closer to you
and I ask you like yesterday.
Blooming honeysuckles
that saw me being born
and on the old wall
surprised my love.
Your humble caress
is like the affection,
the first one and dear,
that I never forgot.
Blooming honeysuckles
that go on climbing,
your arm is firm
and sweet like his.
If every year
your flowers bloom again,
how come my first love
can't do the same? |