Granada, land of my dreams
my singing becomes gypsy when it is for you
my song made of fantasy
my singing flower of melancholy
that I come to give you.
Grenade,
bloody earth
on bullfighting afternoons.
Woman who preserves the spell
of the Moorish eyes;
I dream of you rebel why gypsy
flower cover
why I kiss your scarlet mouth
juicy apple
that speaks to me about love.
pomegranate manola,
sung in beautiful couplets
I have nothing else to give you
than a bouquet of roses,
of softly fragrant roses
that they give a frame to the Morena Virgin.
Grenade,
your land is full
of beautiful women
of blood and sun.
