Malasangre

Bad blood slipped away around the corner.
The night opened its cloak and hid it.
And with bloodshot eyes, the neighbor from the second floor woke up.
...and she won't look for you anymore, sobbing and swearing, sitting on the trash can.
She still thinks the dew and her empty belly will tell her how to come back.
That you'll cross the street, push the door, and look for something to eat.
That you'll stain the carpet, lower your eyes, and go hide in a sorrowful corner...
Bad blood, spoiled one.
Bad blood, they say, that runs through your veins...
..."You see, this isn't the first time."
..."That it gets riled up with heat and a full moon."
..."That it gets desperate and runs after anyone."
Bad blood that saves you, ungrateful dog,
from the love, shelter, and food it gave you,
and it offered you its home, its winter nights, and its warmth of a good woman.
It turned your slow licks into caresses and taught you how to wag your snout.
There are many debts, stray dog.
Any day now, you won't be welcome.
Bad blood, spoiled one.
What joy it will be for the sun when it sees you celebrating
with the day, without a muzzle and without a leash.
And don't you dare hang around that staircase
because at any moment it could happen,
that they leave you with a bad snip of scissors,
without the means to defend yourself.
And one less to sow the earth with children...
And there are so many streets, so much sun, and so many bitches needing a husband,
Bad blood, spoiled one,
Bad blood, spoiled one.