Bandolero

If it were gypsies raising dust
Mixing in the paws
Lands of other lands
Airs of other forests

I, bandit
On my winged horse
In the right hand the fado
Throwing seeds into the fields of the mind

And if you spoke magic, dreams and fantasy
And if you spoke charm, curse and magic
You wouldn't be mistaken, you wouldn't be mistaken
You wouldn't be wrong, no!

If it were gypsies raising dust
Mixing in the paws
Lands of other lands
Airs of other forests

I, bandit
On my winged horse
In the right hand the fado
Throwing seeds into the fields of the mind

And if you spoke magic, dreams and fantasy
And if you spoke charm, curse and magic
Spell, trance-trip, hallucination
Mirage