"This city is haunted, without knowing... For the captivating charm of returning. I dont know if for good, I do not know if for evil, to return has the magic of a ritual. I am of here, of another place I cannot be... I recognize myself in the habit of returning! To meeting again in me, to valuing later, the things that I lost ... the life that went away! I just came and almost I am going away again... Feeling that I go away, and do not want to go away. I doubled the corner of my same one, to understand, that nobody escapes to the fatalism of his own to be, And I am treading on the tiles, blooming the roses for returning ...! This city, i dont know if it exists, if it is like that... Or some poet has invented it for me! She is like a woman, prophetic and fatal asking for the sacrifice until the end! But also it has another voice, has another skin; And the gesture opened of the coffee table... The feeling in flower, the brotherly hand and the face of the love in every threshold. Already I know that it is not coincidence, to have born here and to be a bit like that ... sad and sentimental. Already I know that it is not coincidence, that a fueye for the two, sings the funeral to us to say ... good-bye! To say good-bye to you ... already you see, it cannot be If always and always you are, a reason to return! Always returns to Buenos Aires, to looking for.. this melancholy way of loving... it knows only that one that had to live sick with nostalgia ... almost on the verge of dying!... | 
