Cordoba... Distant and lonely.

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...