“Cordoba.

Far away and alone.

Black pony, big moon,

and olives in my saddle-bag.

Although I know the roads

I’ll never reach Cordoba.

Through the pain, through the wind,

black pony, red moon.

Death is looking at me

from the towers of Cordoba.

Ay! How long the road!

Ay! My valiant pony!

Ay! That death should wait me

before I reach Cordoba.

Cordoba.

Far away and alone.” Song of The Rider