El Baile

The ballroom awaits us
with a triumphant gesture
ready to debut and applaud
the dance of the blood.

The stars arrive,
the press and the glaciers,
happy to share
the toast of the blood.

Watching us, whispering to us
there's a chorus of icicles.
Hovering around us, closing in on us
to immobilize us.

I'm not going, you're not going
to the game of disguise,
you, a chorus girl, and the love of this romantic harlequin
at least until the end,
impossible to modernize.

The court awaits us
to spill the blood,
but we're not going
to such a hateful dance.