Black pony,
Black rubber boat,
large moon, in my saddlebag,
olives, vines, and dreams.
Well as I know the roads,
I shall never reach Cordoba.
Over the plain,
through the wind,
black pony,
red moon.
Death keeps a watch on me
not only from
Cordoba's towers.
But also the
rescue team in the
mediterranean Sea.
Refugees, refugees,
and
refugees...
Yesterday and to day !
Oh, such a long way to go !
And,
oh,
my spirited pony !
My rubber boat with no
engine,
will I ever be rescued ?
Ah,
but death awaits me
before I ever reach
Europa...
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