I don’t want a civilized love,
with bills and scene in the sofa;
I don’t want you to travel to the past
and come back from the market feeling like crying.
I don’t want neighbors with stewpots;
I don’t want to sow or to share;
I don’t want February 14th or “happy birthday”.

I don’t want to carry your luggage;
I don’t want you to choose my shampoo;
I don’t want to have my ponytail cut,
move to another planet, drink a toast to you.
I don’t want Sunday afternoons;
I don’t want a swing in the garden;
what I want, cowardly heart, is you dying for me.

And die with you if you kill yourself
and kill myself if you die
because love kills when it doesn’t die
because killing love never dies.

I don’t want to save up for tomorrow,
I never knew how to reach the end of the month;
I don’t want to eat an apple twice a week
and don’t feel like eating.
I don’t want greenhouse warmth;
I don’t want to kiss your scar;
I don’t want Paris with downpour
or “I love you” without you.

Don’t wait for me in the court at midnight;
don’t tell me “let’s try it again”.

I don’t want neither free nor busy,
neither meat nor sin, neither pride nor mercy.
I don’t want to know why you did it;
I don’t want neither with you nor without you;
what I want, lass with sad eyes, is you dying for me.

And die with you if you kill yourself
and kill myself if you die
because love kills when it doesn’t die
because killing love never dies.

p.s. once again I’ve translated this on the fly… it is provided “as is”.