Letra de Horacio Ferrer
Música de Astor Piazzolla
In the evenings, dirty face
As a little angel in blue jeans
He sells roses around the tables
At Bachin’s grill.
If the moon shines
Over the grill
He eats moon and soot bread.
Every day in his sadness
That doesn’t want to see the dawn,
He is surprised by a 6th January
With the star upside down.
And Three Cat Kings
Steal his shoes,
One for the left foot, and the other as well!
Little kid,
Give me a bunch of yourself,
So I go out to sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account of
The hunger that I didn’t understand,
Little kid.
When the sun dresses the children
In school uniforms to learn,
He learns how much
He still doesn’t know,
And he looks at his mother,
Walking the streets,
But he doesn’t want to see her.
Every dawn, in the trash,
With a bum and a spaghetti,
He builds a kite
To go away, but remains the same.
He is a strange man,
A thousand-year-old child,
Who deep inside tangles his string.
Little kid,
Give me a bunch of yourself,
So I go out to sell
My shames in bloom.
Shoot me with three roses
That hurt on account of
The hunger that I didn’t understand,
Little kid.