At a bright screened window, full of flowers,
wounded her heart by a rose,
a woman was consuming her dreams,
singing, under the night, ballads of love.
Of love, lost battles, broken carnations;
of love, burn the flames of a passion;
of love, her Moorish eyes were shinning
like treasures of King Pharaoh.
When the moon hides, and the air smells like jasmine,
in the arms of a man
the night finds her, saying like this:
Refrain
Ay, sing a 'pasodoble' to me,
a bullfighting 'pasodoble',
with a man's voice, with a man's voice.
Ay, that I die in your eyes
to a 'pasodoble's beat.
In your arms, I give myself to live
with bullfighting art and rhythm.
Even if nobody cares,
sing a 'pasodoble' to me
sing a 'pasodoble' to me
sing a 'pasodoble' to me
a bullfighting pasodoble,
full of sun and jasmine!
The moon goes through the sky as a guard,
'cause someone has broken a woman's heart,
on a clear and cold night, full of stars,
at a flowered window she fell in love.
And to be blame for that agony, there is a man
who, with a kiss, as a prisioner, he took her away,
and, in a jail of dreams and radiance,
caresses and flowers, there she was left.
When love was turning on
the lights of her heart.
The Andalucian girls used to tell me like this ,
with this song:
(ESTRIBILLO)