Con La Mano Izquierda

It's been twenty years of bullfighting passion
that you've paid the price to be a
master.
Let me heal your many scars,
your map of pain, your pride, ours.

I sing to your art and my throat
breaks in that low-handed thrust,
I sing to your sacred music.
Singing and bullfighting, pouring out the soul.

Break your wrist, art, a fierce bull
shatters your soul when
I love you.
With the left hand, chest
out front, the naked truth,
that's true singing.

No one knows you seriously in your
inner self, like a big kid,
as a new man.
Because in life, like in
bullfighting, you are the truth inside and
out.

I sing to your art and my throat
breaks in that low-handed thrust.
I sing to your sacred music,
singing and bullfighting, putting in the soul.
Break your wrist in front of a fierce bull,
your soul shatters when
I love you.
With the left hand, chest
out front, the naked truth, that's
true singing.

During the noble bull of life,
Jose Ortega Cano, I feel you, bullfighter,
as if it were a goring,
as if it were a goring,
in my own body.