MAÑANA ZARPA UN BARCO.

We touch shores that never change when we drop anchor. A hundred harbors offer us the music of the sea. Sad-eyed girls come to wait for us, and every glass seems to taste the same. Only here in your harbor does my heart rejoice, Riachuelo, where the bandoneon's voice bleeds. Let's dance until the echo of the final measure: tomorrow a ship sails; perhaps it will never return.

How wonderful to dance on solid ground. Tomorrow at dawn we have to set sail. The night is long; I don't want you to be sad. Come on, girl... I don't know why you cry. I'll say your name when I am far away. I'll have a memory to tell the sea. The night is long; I don't want you to be sad. Come on, girl... I don't know why you cry.

For two months my heart traveled aboard a ship, two months longing for the bandoneon's voice. Tango is a friendly port where hope drops anchor. To its dancing rhythm, emotion sways. At night, beneath the moon, dreaming over the sea, the rhythm of the waves deceives me with its beat. Let's dance this tango; I don't want to remember. Tomorrow a ship sails; perhaps it will never return.