Son Desangrado
Un corazón quiso saltar un pozo
Confiado en la proeza de su sangre
Y hoy se le escucha delirar de hambre
En el oscuro fondo de su gozo.
El corazón se ahogaba de ternura,
De ganas de vivir multiplicado
Y hoy es un corazón tan mutilado
Que ha conseguido morir de cordura.
Qué son, desangrado son, corazón.
Hablo de un corazón que se defiende
De su vieja y usada maquinaria,
Hablo de un parto en una funeraria,
Hablo de un corazón que no comprende.
Hablo de un corazón tan estrujado,
Tan pequeñín, tan pobre, tan quién sabe
Que en su torrente casi todo cabe
Sea real o sea imaginado.
Qué son, desangrado son, corazón.
Al corazón le faltaba su oreja
Y andaba distraído por la calle
Estrangulando con pasión un talle
E incapaz de notar alguna queja.
El corazón de torpe primavera
Hizo que le injertaran el oído
Y tanta maldición oyó que ha ido
A que le den de nuevo su sordera.
Qué son, desangrado son, corazón.
Bleeding Heart
A heart wanted to jump into a well
Confident in the prowess of its blood
And today it is heard deliriously hungry
In the dark depths of its joy.
The heart was drowning in tenderness,
In the desire to live multiplied
And today it's a heart so mutilated
That it has managed to die of sanity.
What are you, bleeding heart.
I speak of a heart that defends itself
From its old and worn machinery,
I speak of a birth in a funeral home,
I speak of a heart that doesn't understand.
I speak of a heart so squeezed,
So tiny, so poor, so who knows
That in its stream almost everything fits
Be it real or imagined.
What are you, bleeding heart.
The heart was missing its ear
And walked distractedly down the street
Passionately strangling a waist
And unable to notice any complaint.
The heart of clumsy spring
Had its ear grafted
And heard so many curses that it went
To have its deafness restored.
What are you, bleeding heart.