| He was a Basque from San Sebastian, he came here in '51
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| Made his bones along the border in the Jai Alai frontons
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| With a cesta on his hand he threw his heart against the wall
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| He was the master of the dance in the fastest game of all
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| He had blood inside his eye, he threw his heart, he let it fly
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| He was the master of the dance, the king of Jai Alai
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| What does it mean to you and I? |
| Swing your heart and let it fly
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| Love is a deadly dance just like Jai Alai
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| He met a woman deeper than the songs in the Cante Hondo bars
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| They made love outside the racetrack in his long black touring car
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| But love took all his passion, how the fire still twists and burns
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| Throw your heart against the wall, it might not return
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| He wrote a postcard from Bilbao, said the games were mostly gone
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| Just a memory to the old men who live in bars and gypsy songs
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| But oh, that crack of thunder when the pelota hit the wall
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| Love and Jai Alai were the fastest games of all
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| His passion never died but these nights he sleeps alone
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| Seeing her face reflected on the walls of border town frontons
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| The games have mostly died but old men too proud to cry
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| Live on memories of love and Jai Alai |