| the moon is combing
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| In the mirrors of the river
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| And a bull is looking at her
|
| Among the rockrose hidden
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| When the joyous morning comes
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| And the moon escapes from the river
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| And the little bull gets into the water
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| Envisiendole there is someone who has gone
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| And that bull in love with the moon
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| That he leaves the herd at night
|
| And he is painted poppy and olive
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| And the mayoral named him a bell ringer
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| The pilgrims from the mountains kiss his forehead
|
| The stars and stars bathe it in silver
|
| And the little bull that is brave and of brave caste
|
| Colored fans look like their legs
|
| The the the the the the the the the the
|
| The the the the the the the the the the
|
| The the the the the the the the the the the the
|
| The the the the the the the the the the the
|
| The pilgrims from the mountains kiss his forehead
|
| The stars and stars bathe it in silver
|
| And the little bull that is brave and of brave caste
|
| Colored fans look like their legs
|
| the moon rises tonight
|
| With a cola gravata
|
| And the bull is looking at her
|
| Between the jara and the shadows
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| In the face of the river water
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| Where the moon sleeps
|
| The brave casta bull
|
| He watches over her like a sentinel
|
| And that bull in love with the moon
|
| That he leaves the herd at night
|
| And he is painted poppy and olive
|
| And the mayoral named him a bell ringer
|
| The pilgrims from the mountains kiss his forehead
|
| The stars and stars bathe it in silver
|
| And the little bull that is brave and of brave caste
|
| Colored fans look like their legs
|
| And a range of colors look like his paws |