|
(brooker / reid) |
|
Conquistador your stallion stands |
|
In need of company |
|
And like some angel's haloed brow |
|
You reek of purity |
|
I see your armour-plated breast |
|
Has long since lost its sheen |
|
And in your death mask face |
|
There are no signs which can be seen |
|
And though i hoped for something to find |
|
I could see no maze 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 hoped for something to find |
|
I could see no maze to unwind |
|
Conquistador there is no time |
|
I must pay my respect |
|
And though i came to jeer at you |
|
I leave now with regret |
|
And as the gloom begins to fall |
|
I see there is no, only all |
|
And though you came with sword held high |
|
You did not conquer, only die |
|
And though i hoped for something to find |
|
I could see no maze to unwind |