In the silence of the Andalusian night,
Echoes of forgotten battles sigh,
Shadows dance in the moonlight’s gleam,
Whispering tales of a Spanish dream.
Through the cobblestone streets of yore,
Ghosts of soldiers march once more,
Their voices a haunting serenade,
To the land where their bodies were laid.
Beneath the Alhambra’s ancient walls,
History’s whispers softly calls,
Embracing the souls of the past,
In a timeless, shadowy cast.
As dawn breaks over Seville’s spires,
The whispers fade, but never tire,
For in the heart of Spain’s vast breath,
Lingers the spirit of Spanish death.