galata

Her bangs are a ring on her forehead,

 

The most beautiful rose of Granada with a whore on his chest

 

 

The golden cup is in every hand, the sun is in every heart;

 

Spain is on this rose tonight with its presence.

 

 

In the middle of the dance, he stops and dances, as if walking;

 

He looks like he's killing with a turn of his head...

 

 

Rose skin, ember lips, coal eyes, kohl...

 

The devil says that one should kiss the wrapper a hundred times...

 

 

To the dazzling shawl, to the enchanting rose,

 

To the bell that fills every heart, from every chest: Ole!

Done