Conquistador, your stallion stands In need of company And like some angel's haloed brow You reek of purity I see your armor-plated breast Has long-since lost its sheen And in your death-masked face There are no signs which can be seen And though I hope for something to find I can see no place to unwind
Conquistador, a vulture sits Upon your silver shield And in your rusty scabbard now The sand has taken seed And though your jewel-encrusted blade Has not been plundered still The sea has washed across your face And taken of its fill And though I hope for something to find I can see no place to unwind
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