Rómpeme Mátame

Your eyes no longer look at me, your lips are two lies;
your tongue, insult and caress, but that's how I feel alive.
I'd rather be pure blood and have you pull the reins on me
than a jade doll, an ornament in your showcase.

Chorus:
That's why break me, kill me, but don't ignore me, no, my life:
I'd rather you kill me than die every day.

Your hands are two chains, my pleasure and my agony:
with one you give me affection, with the other you control me.
I prefer to feel the spur you stick into me every day
to be the flower you forgot in a glass in a corner.