What's new Buenos Aires?
Your nation, which a few years
Ago had the second largest gold reserves in the world, is
Bankrupt!
A country which grew up and grew rich on
Beef is rationing it!
La Prensa, one of the few newspapers
Which dares to oppose Peronism, has been silenced, and
So have all other reasonable voices!
I'll tell you what's
New Buenos Aires!

Dice are rolling, the knives are out
I see every bad sign in the book
And as far as they can, overweight to a man!
They have that lean and hungry look.

But we still have the magic we've always had!
The descamisados still worship me, we arrived thanks to
Them and no-one else
No thanks to your generals, a clutch of stuffed cuckoos!

It's not a question of a big parade, proving we're big with
The mobs on the street.

You're wrong, the people, my people.

The people belong to no-one!
They are fickle, can be manipulated, they don't matter!
However much they love you now it matters more that as far as my stuffed cuckoos are concerned, you don't politically exist!

So I don't exist!
So I count for nothing!
Try saying that
On the street when all over the world I am Argentina!

(EVA breaks off for a second--in some pain)

Most of your generals wouldn't be recognized by their
Own mothers!
But they'll admit I exist when I become vice-president!

That won't work... We've been through all of this before
They'd fight you tooth and nail you'd never overcome
Them with a hundred rallies and even if you did.

Yes?

Your little body's slowly breaking down
You're losing speed, you're losing strength
Not style, that goes on
Flourishing forever, but your eyes, your smile
Do not have the sparkle of their fantastic past
If you climb one more mountain it could be your last.

I'm not that ill, bad moments come but they go
Some days are fine, some a little bit harder
But that doesn't mean
I should change my routine
Have you ever seen
Me defeated?
Don't you forget what i've been through and yet
I'm still standing
And if I am ill, that could even be to your advantage!

Advantage? I'm trying to point out that you are dying!

This talk of death is chilling, of course you're not going to die!

Then I must now be vice-president!
And I shall have my people come to choose
Two Perons to wear their country's crowns
In thousands in my squares and avenues
Emptying their villages and towns
Where every soul in home or shack or stall
Knows me as Argentina, that is all.

Oh I shall be a great vice-president!

(But EVA collapses in great pain)

So what happens now?
So what happens now?

Where am I going to?
Don't ask anymore.