The Spaniard

On some dank dusty morning I chanced to meet a Spaniard
With eyes so dark and lips so red and words so cool
He came into my head

He led me to a tavern and he gave to me his silver cup
With leather boots and blood-red wine and hair so fine
Held his hands for me, yeah

I found myself dancing with a rose between my teeth
And the feel of frills around my ankle like a dead man's hand
Red wine drained quickly in the heat of that sensual night
And the cacti kissed together on the meseta

Old man, you cheered me as I cavorted around the table while his fingers found the guitar in a frenzied mood

As my dance gained momentum, my aching thighs began to wane
But you were strong, you carried on so I kicked my heels
And I reeled around the room

I flicked my skirt for you, I even tossed the rose right next to you
I even let my hair down and covered you with my mantilla
That night you called me beautiful, you see I don't forget so easily
Now I grind my castanets to a pulp and I try to remember you

But the day is dawning and candle wax drips to an end
Tables cleared, time to move, Señor, please
Morning is a new day