BALADA PARA MI MUERTE (PIAZZOLLA) - JOSÉ RIVERO & METROPOLE ORKEST

JOSÉ RIVERO & METROPOLE ORKEST - BALADA PARA MI MUERTE - Astor Piazzolla
Conductor Maurice Luttikhuis Arranger Kevin Halporn.
Bandoneon: Martin de Ruiter.
Live Recording at the opening of the new Zuiderpark Campus in the Hague.01-07-2017 in commission of the city of the Hague. Production: Live in Europe BV
Bookings: [phone]

[@pabloarlequin]

Adios José, tu voz resuena y seguirá resonando llena de sentimientos y fuerzas. Un gran abrazo amigo, a seguir soñando por siempre

[@sloweditamsterdam6735]

buen viaje amigo que dejo a la vida en un cantar, descansa en paz

[@nanzitortone]

¡Bravísimo amigo querido ! Felicitaciones mil! Un beso desde tu país....

[@pedrohectorsalazar4971]

excelente, qué buena interpretación y la orquesta excepcional-

[@liveineurope9970]

Ballad for my death
I will die in Buenos Aires, it will be at daybreak,
I will keep rather gently the things needed to live:
my humble little poetry of ballads and good-byes,
my tobacco, my tango, my fistful of melancholy.
I will put on my shoulders, as overcoat*, the whole dawn,
my penultimate whisky will remain there untouched,
and the same as a tango, my in love death will come,
when the clock strikes six I'll be dead, just on time.
Today, that God stops me from dreaming,
in my forgetfulness I'll go by Santa Fe,
I know you will be at our corner
all wrapped in sadness, down to your feet.
Embrace me tightly that inside
I hear deaths, old deaths,
assaulting what I loved.
My darling, let's move on,
the day is coming, don't weep.
I will die in Buenos Aires, it will be at daybreak,
which is the time when the ones who Know how to die, die.
It will float in my silence the perfumed misfortune, +.
of that verse I never knew how to tell.
I will walk so many blocks and there at France square,
like run away shadows of a tired ballet,
repeating your name along a white street,
my memories will leave tiptoeing away.
I will die in Buenos Aires, it will be at daybreak,
I will keep rather gently the things needed to live:
My humble little poetry of ballads and good-byes,
my tobacco, my tango, a fistful of melancholy.
I will put on my shoulders, as overcoat, the whole dawn,
my penultimate whiskey will remain there untouched,
and the same as a tango, my in love death will come,
when the clock strikes six, I'll be dead, just on time,
when the clock strikes six, when he clock strikes six!