But then, i saw up, another window...
I remember beautiful verses from another tango..
Moriré en Buenos Aires ( I'll die at Buenos Aires)..

I will die at Buenos Aires,
at dawn
As that is the hour for those
who know how to die…
it will float, in my silence,
the fragrant anger
from that verse that
I never succeeded to tell you…

I will die at Buenos Aires,
at dawn..
I will mildly keep
the life’s things:
mi little poetry
from farewells and bullets,
my tobacco, my tango
and my bunch of spleen