Bandoleiro

If gypsies were to raise dust
Mixing in the hooves
Lands of other lands, airs of other forests
I, bandit, on my winged horse
In my right hand, fate
Sowing seeds in the fields of the mind
And if you spoke of magic, dream and fantasy
And if you spoke of charm, spell and spell
You wouldn't be mistaken, you wouldn't be mistaken
You wouldn't be mistaken, no!
If gypsies were to raise dust
Mixing in the hooves
Lands of other lands, airs of other forests
I, bandit, on my winged horse
In my right hand, fate
Sowing seeds in the fields of the mind
And if you spoke of magic, dream and fantasy
And if you spoke of charm, spell and spell
Enchantment, trance-travel, hallucination
Mirage