Ya t Has Corrido?

A doll-like face and pornographic audacity stand side by side, like shop windows on a night street: beckoning, winking, and slightly shocking. The voice strides through the empty corridors of desire - sometimes cool, sometimes burning, as if someone forgot to turn off the warm tile floor. The repetitive chorus is like a ritual: a light mockery of one's own chic and a confident declaration of ownership of other people's leftover feelings.

Here, playfulness, provocation, and weariness from roles are mixed together: narcissistic brilliance coexists with clinical irony, and the lines sometimes laugh, sometimes scratch. The whole composition is like a diary of a night city: lots of light, a little disorder, and a warm smile at the end, which knows that it is possible to live beautifully and with a spark.