“By the boulevard of the broken dreams”
(to Chavela Vargas)

In the boulevard of the broken dreams
lives a red-poncho lady,
silver hair and brown flesh.

Ardent mestiza of free language,
brave cat of tiger skin
with Full Moon beam voice.

By the boulevard of the broken dreams
earthquakes straight past,
and there is a tequila for each doubt.

When Agustín seats by the piano,
Diego Rivera, pencil in hand,
draws Frida Kahlo naked.

He escaped from a love jail,
of an alcohol delirium,
of thousand nights staying up.

He left his heart in Madrid,
who would know how to laugh
as Chavela cries!?

By the boulevard of the broken dreams
the heartbroken devotees of San Antonio
are requesting kisses.

“Put your hand here Macorina”
pray your faithfuls by the canteens,
Black Dove of the excesses.

By the boulevard of the broken dreams
a tear wets old photos
and a song makes fun of fear.

Bitterness isn’t bitter
when it’s sung by Chavela Vargas
and written by a certain Jose Alfredo.

He escaped from a love jail,
of an alcohol delirium,
of thousand nights staying up.

He left his heart in Madrid,
who would know how to laugh
as Chavela cries!?

Bitterness isn’t bitter
when it’s sung by Chavela Vargas
and written by a certain Jose Alfredo.