|
(brooker / reid) |
|
Conquistador your stallion stands |
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In need of company |
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And like some angel's haloed brow |
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You reek of purity |
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I see your armour-plated breast |
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Has long since lost its sheen |
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And in your death mask face |
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There are no signs which can be seen |
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And though i hoped for something to find |
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I could see no maze to unwind |
|
Conquistador a vulture sits |
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Upon your silver shield |
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And in your rusty scabbard now |
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The sand has taken seed |
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And though your jewel-encrusted blade |
|
Has not been plundered still |
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The sea has washed across your face |
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And taken of its fill |
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And though i hoped for something to find |
|
I could see no maze to unwind |
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Conquistador there is no time |
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I must pay my respect |
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And though i came to jeer at you |
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I leave now with regret |
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And as the gloom begins to fall |
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I see there is no, only all |
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And though you came with sword held high |
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You did not conquer, only die |
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And though i hoped for something to find |
|
I could see no maze to unwind |
