[Tells the story of how an intrepid swordsman called "Diego Cortés", he receives a bag of gold in exchange for accompanying a silent pilgrim from Puente La Reina to Santiago de Compostela. Thanks to Arturo Pérez Reverte for his inspiration on this character. There's nothing left but to fight!!]
The Cross of Santiago
He wasn't the most honest, but he...
was a brave and loyal man,
mercy didn't live within him, either.
He struggled, renting for three maravedís
his sword and biscayan nativity in
adjustments of scarce light and worse ends.
Those were hard times and you had to work hard for bread.
The cunning, the sword and the "vote for" someone, reigned.
Shines, the steel in his hand,
pearls, the sweat in his face,
where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go...
he'll go and seek.
Behind his back, a shadow on foot
followed him without missing a detail,
it appeared to learn.
His look reflected calm and peace.
His voice low and familiar
told legends of antiquity.
Mystery enveloped him, he never slept,
they say he fed off popular tales.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago
in his chest, through the Sun
his face he never uncovered...
his name he hid.
On the rooftop of time,
on the attic of dreams
a voice is drowned:
"Don't believe everything you see
only pay attention to your intuition
And if you harbor doubt
you'll never, ever find comfort within.
Throw the dice well
because the game of the road has commenced,
Sharpen your wit,
help yourself with magick,
help yourself with tarot,
read the soul of the forest
and guess where death hid itself."
Shines, the steel in his hand,
pearls, the sweat in his face,
where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago
in his chest, through the Sun
his face he never uncovered.
Shines, the steel in his hand,
pearls, the sweat in his face,
where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago
in his chest, through the Sun
his face he never uncovered.
Shines, the steel in his hand,
pearls, the sweat in his face,
where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago
in his chest, through the Sun
his face he never uncovered.
Shines, the steel in his hand,
pearls, the sweat in his face,
where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago
in his chest, through the Sun
his face he never uncovered.
[Tells the story of how an intrepid swordsman called "Diego Cortés", he receives a bag of gold in exchange for accompanying a silent pilgrim from Puente La Reina to Santiago de Compostela. Thanks to Arturo Pérez Reverte for his inspiration on this character. There's nothing left but to fight!!]
The Cross of Santiago
He wasn't the most honest, but he... was a brave and loyal man, mercy didn't live within him, either.
He struggled, renting for three maravedís his sword and biscayan nativity in adjustments of scarce light and worse ends.
Those were hard times and you had to work hard for bread. The cunning, the sword and the "vote for" someone, reigned.
Shines, the steel in his hand, pearls, the sweat in his face, where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go... he'll go and seek.
Behind his back, a shadow on foot followed him without missing a detail, it appeared to learn.
His look reflected calm and peace. His voice low and familiar told legends of antiquity.
Mystery enveloped him, he never slept, they say he fed off popular tales.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago in his chest, through the Sun his face he never uncovered... his name he hid.
On the rooftop of time, on the attic of dreams a voice is drowned: "Don't believe everything you see only pay attention to your intuition
And if you harbor doubt you'll never, ever find comfort within. Throw the dice well because the game of the road has commenced,
Sharpen your wit, help yourself with magick, help yourself with tarot, read the soul of the forest and guess where death hid itself."
Shines, the steel in his hand, pearls, the sweat in his face, where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago in his chest, through the Sun his face he never uncovered.
Shines, the steel in his hand, pearls, the sweat in his face, where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago in his chest, through the Sun his face he never uncovered.
Shines, the steel in his hand, pearls, the sweat in his face, where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago in his chest, through the Sun his face he never uncovered.
Shines, the steel in his hand, pearls, the sweat in his face, where the sea doesn't have an owner he'll go.
Shines, the Cross of Santiago in his chest, through the Sun his face he never uncovered.