You can read the English translation of the lyrics at the end of the song.

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Fuiste tú, poesía.

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Jamás pensé

que pudiera doler tanto.

Cuando me quise dar cuenta,

ya estaba en el suelo.

Me mirabas con desprecio

Con sonrisa de malvada

muda, sin sentimientos,

Mientras yo me desgarraba.

Tu que fuiste mi musa

Con tu pistola me apuntabas

Tu que me lo diste todo

Ahora todo, me quitabas

Fueron mil balas de rencores

Por no escribirte, mi amada,

Por no dedicarte poemas

Ni dormir tus versos al alba.

Fuiste tu, poesía,

La que sin vida, mi vida quitabas,

Fuiste tu, musa y prosa,

Quien sin armas me matabas.

Por no llorarte, reirte

Por no volar con tus alas,

Por dejar que mi miedo

Me robara sin ti el alma

Siento no haberte escuchado

Llevar meses sin palabras

Vivía tan Preocupado

Que solo lloraba de rabia

Perdón por dejarte sola

Sé cuanto me extrañabas

Pero he estado muy agobiado

Sin timón en las entrañas.

Prometo no abandonarte

Hoy vuelves a ser mi amada

Prometo, ya no me mates,

Ahora lo que escribo se canta

Fuiste tu, poesía,

La que sin vida, mi vida quitabas,

Fuiste tu, musa y prosa,

Quien sin armas me matabas.

Por no llorarte, reirte

Por no volar con tus alas,

Por dejar que mi miedo

Me robara sin ti el alma

Fuiste tu... poesía... mi vida

Perdona por dejarte sola...

y abandonada

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It Was You, Poetry

I never thought

it could hurt this much, so deep.

By the time I caught on,

I’d crashed in a heap.

You stared with disdain,

a wicked grin on your face,

mute, without feeling,

while I tore apart in that space.

You, once my muse,

aimed your gun at my core,

you, who gave me everything,

now stripped it all, and more.

A thousand bullets of grudge,

for not writing, my dear,

for not crafting you poems,

nor whispering verse at dawn’s frontier.

It was you, poetry,

who drained my life, left me bare,

it was you, muse and prose,

who slew me without a weapon there.

For not weeping, nor laughing,

for not soaring on your wings,

for letting my fear

steal my soul in these things.

I’m sorry I didn’t hear you,

months mute, words gone astray,

so caught in my worries,

I just raged and wept each day.

Forgive me for leaving you lone,

I know how you longed for me so,

but I’ve been overwhelmed,

adrift with no helm below.

I swear I won’t forsake you,

today you’re my love once more,

I promise, don’t kill me now,

what I write will sing, not bore.

It was you, poetry,

who drained my life, left me bare,

it was you, muse and prose,

who slew me without a weapon there.

For not weeping, nor laughing,

for not soaring on your wings,

for letting my fear

steal my soul in these things.

It was you… poetry… my life,

forgive me for leaving you alone…

and cast aside.