Last night I dreamed
that Murcia was going to disappear,
last night I dreamed
that Murcia was going to disappear.
Last night I dreamed,
Granada no longer existed,
no trace of Almería,
last night I dreamed.
No, I don't know why,
I don't know Why did I wake up?
Your voice took me out of the cot,
it told me to go,
your voice took me out of the cot,
I was crossing Alicante,
ten lands ahead would know my sword.
There is no more Babieca than me here,
more Babieca than me there is no here,
more Babieca than There isn't one here, no.
My sword was Tizona
and my horse Babieca.
My sword was Tizona,
you were Doña Jimena.
I crossed a desert of sorrow
that looked like Arizona.
It was a land of infidels,
of many gypsies and clowns,
it was a land of infidels,
the one that I saw back of my horse,
were the strip of skins
to make my cloak a tunic.
There is no more Babieca than me here.
It was a land of infidels,
of many gypsies and payos,
it was a land of infidels,
the one I saw on the back of my horse,
were the strip of skins
to make my cape a tunic.
There is no more Babieca than me here.
There is no more Babieca than me here.
There is no more Babieca than me here.
There is no more Babieca than me here.

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