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In colonial times, in the Mexican city of Morelia, Michoacan, lived a wealthy gentleman Don Juan Nunez de Castro, remarried with Doña Margarita Estrada. Don Juan had a daughter from a previous marriage, Leonor, famous for its beauty, and who was courted by many young people in the city. Secretly, Doña Margarita began to harbor deep envy against his stepdaughter, ignoble feeling that entail tragic consequences.
Feeling sick, Don Juan commanded to write his will, which bequeathed most of his belongings to his daughter, including the huge house in which they lived, and there was little left for his wife. Once Don Juan died, the hypocrisy of Dona Margarita had no reason to be: he ordered the servants to Leonor locked up in the basement of the house and sent seal the only entrance to the street, a window with bars. The work was done in haste, so that a gap was in construction. Leonor, desperate to his horrible fate, cried and tried to pull his hand through the bars and hollow. Weep and pray for Leonor comnzaron to cause alarm among the bystanders, who alerted authorities. When they went to the home of Dona Margarita, the woman convinced inspectors were all talk and no reason to start. The word of the widow of a landowner convinced.
Leonor slowly starving. To those who ask for it, Doña Margarita was claimed that sick and had to keep strict rest, making it impossible to see. His diabolical plan was clear: kill hunger Eleanor to say that he died of a rare disease.
Almost on the verge of death, Leonor crying was heard by a senior officer of the colonial secretary, passing through Morelia, named Don Manrique de la Serna. Far from being frightened, Don Manrique voice asked what was happening, and so terrrorífica learned of the plot taking place in the house that had belonged to Don Juan de Castro. I quickly put on notice to the colonial authorities, who demanded the opening of Doña Margarita basement. There they found the body of Leonor, who had died shortly before. Doña Margarita was sentenced to prison and locked up in a convent; the servants were executed. Don Manrique, saddened by the death of such a beautiful girl, buried in the church of San Diego and sent a small monument erected in his memory. Until today, in the driveway of Guadalupe, where the house still stands, walkers claim to hear a pained voice that asks for food and water and stir fragile ghostly hand through the bars of the basement window
Feeling sick, Don Juan commanded to write his will, which bequeathed most of his belongings to his daughter, including the huge house in which they lived, and there was little left for his wife. Once Don Juan died, the hypocrisy of Dona Margarita had no reason to be: he ordered the servants to Leonor locked up in the basement of the house and sent seal the only entrance to the street, a window with bars. The work was done in haste, so that a gap was in construction. Leonor, desperate to his horrible fate, cried and tried to pull his hand through the bars and hollow. Weep and pray for Leonor comnzaron to cause alarm among the bystanders, who alerted authorities. When they went to the home of Dona Margarita, the woman convinced inspectors were all talk and no reason to start. The word of the widow of a landowner convinced.
Leonor slowly starving. To those who ask for it, Doña Margarita was claimed that sick and had to keep strict rest, making it impossible to see. His diabolical plan was clear: kill hunger Eleanor to say that he died of a rare disease.
Almost on the verge of death, Leonor crying was heard by a senior officer of the colonial secretary, passing through Morelia, named Don Manrique de la Serna. Far from being frightened, Don Manrique voice asked what was happening, and so terrrorífica learned of the plot taking place in the house that had belonged to Don Juan de Castro. I quickly put on notice to the colonial authorities, who demanded the opening of Doña Margarita basement. There they found the body of Leonor, who had died shortly before. Doña Margarita was sentenced to prison and locked up in a convent; the servants were executed. Don Manrique, saddened by the death of such a beautiful girl, buried in the church of San Diego and sent a small monument erected in his memory. Until today, in the driveway of Guadalupe, where the house still stands, walkers claim to hear a pained voice that asks for food and water and stir fragile ghostly hand through the bars of the basement window
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e no piensas en mi y te abrazas a la almohada
Que dios te soltó de la palma de su mano
Y te ah visto llorar encerrada en tu cuarto
No le cuentes más mentiras háblale con la verdad
Que ya te diste cuenta que el no es tu otra mitad
Que aunque camuflajes tu mirada de alegría
No disfrazas su tristeza con una sonrisa
La soledad hizo taleta y se quedo junto a ti
Y no hay fórmula secreta para ser feliz
Muy tarde cuenta te diste todo esto iba pasar
Que te dije te lo dije no soy fácil de olvidar
Cuéntale la historia que a nadie le has contado
Cuéntale la historia la historia de mis manos
Que me quede por siempre a lado izquierdo de tu pecho
Que en tu vida estoy presente aunque disfraces mi recuerdo
Cuéntale de todas nuestras travesuras
Que mis besos te llevaron de la tierra hasta la luna
Que te falta mi abrigue y en tu piel sentir la gloria
Que todos tus lunares me los se ya de memoria
Cuéntale que miente cuando te habla bonito
Por qué lo más bonito ya lo viviste conmigo
Que mil noches fuiste mía y hasta el alma te bese
Y en tus uñas todavía quedan rastros de mi piel
Cuéntale mi amor lo que a nadie le has contado
Cuéntale... La Historia De Mis Manos
Cuéntale la historia que a nadie le has contado
Cuéntale la historia la historia de mis manos
Que me quede por siempre a lado izquierdo de tu pecho
Que en tu vida estoy presente aunque disfraces mi recuerdo
Cuéntale de todas nuestras travesuras
Que mis besos te llevaron de la tierra hasta la luna
Que te falta mi abrigue y en tu piel sentir la gloria
Que todos tus lunares me los se ya de memoria
Cuéntale que miente cuando te habla bonito
Por qué lo más bonito ya lo viviste conmigo
Que mil noches fuiste mía y hasta el alma te bese
Y en tus uñas todavía quedan rastros de mi piel
Que dios te soltó de la palma de su mano
Y te ah visto llorar encerrada en tu cuarto
No le cuentes más mentiras háblale con la verdad
Que ya te diste cuenta que el no es tu otra mitad
Que aunque camuflajes tu mirada de alegría
No disfrazas su tristeza con una sonrisa
La soledad hizo taleta y se quedo junto a ti
Y no hay fórmula secreta para ser feliz
Muy tarde cuenta te diste todo esto iba pasar
Que te dije te lo dije no soy fácil de olvidar
Cuéntale la historia que a nadie le has contado
Cuéntale la historia la historia de mis manos
Que me quede por siempre a lado izquierdo de tu pecho
Que en tu vida estoy presente aunque disfraces mi recuerdo
Cuéntale de todas nuestras travesuras
Que mis besos te llevaron de la tierra hasta la luna
Que te falta mi abrigue y en tu piel sentir la gloria
Que todos tus lunares me los se ya de memoria
Cuéntale que miente cuando te habla bonito
Por qué lo más bonito ya lo viviste conmigo
Que mil noches fuiste mía y hasta el alma te bese
Y en tus uñas todavía quedan rastros de mi piel
Cuéntale mi amor lo que a nadie le has contado
Cuéntale... La Historia De Mis Manos
Cuéntale la historia que a nadie le has contado
Cuéntale la historia la historia de mis manos
Que me quede por siempre a lado izquierdo de tu pecho
Que en tu vida estoy presente aunque disfraces mi recuerdo
Cuéntale de todas nuestras travesuras
Que mis besos te llevaron de la tierra hasta la luna
Que te falta mi abrigue y en tu piel sentir la gloria
Que todos tus lunares me los se ya de memoria
Cuéntale que miente cuando te habla bonito
Por qué lo más bonito ya lo viviste conmigo
Que mil noches fuiste mía y hasta el alma te bese
Y en tus uñas todavía quedan rastros de mi piel
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