The fight at the street, our national symbol.. our passions
Maybe it was just enough to see those small windows, and dive in that man's soul,
That man who was humming the tango: "We were" (Fuimos)

I was like a rain of ashes and difficulties
in the resigned hours of your life...
A drop of vinegar spilled,
fatally spilled over all your wounds.

You were, by my fault, a bird at the snow;
a rose withered by the cloud without rain.

We were embraced to the anguish of an omen
through the night of a road without exits,
pale remains of a shipwreck
shaken by the waves of love and life