Triste está al sonar
tu armonioso diapasón,
guitarra con tu llorar
me tajeas el corazón.
El cantor, al pulsar
tus nervios con emoción,
vuelca con triste voz, su canción.

Guitarra, que en los bulines
sos como un pájaro enfermo,
vos sos la que decís que un gotán
tiene el sabor de un lagrimón de arrabal.
Tenés en la garganta un zorzal,
que torturas, al desgranar tu dolor

No llorés que, al compás
de tu gemido tristón,
se llena mi corazón
con las quejas que volcás.
Anunciás, yo no sé
qué presagio de traición
cuando da tu fatal vibración.

Guitarra criolla que lloras
en manos que te acarician,
temblás acaso porque sentís
en tu interior un profundo lagrimear.
Igual me sabe a mi suceder al recordar
las mañanas de mi ayer.

English translation

Sad is your harmonious tuning fork
your harmonious tuning fork,
guitar with your weeping
you cut my heart.
The singer, as he plucks
your nerves with emotion
pours with sad voice, his song.

Guitar, that in the bulins
you are like a sick bird,
you are the one who says that a gotán
has the taste of a tear of the suburbs.
You have a thrush in your throat,
that you torture, when shelling out your pain

Do not cry that, to the beat
of your sad moaning
my heart is filled
with the complaints you pour out.
You announce, I don't know
what omen of betrayal
when you give your fatal vibration.

Creole guitar that you cry
in hands that caress you,
you tremble perhaps because you feel
a deep tearing inside you.
The same happens to me when I remember the mornings of my yesterday.
the mornings of my yesterday.