LatinosUSA

In faraway places he puts on a show
Picado style, tirando and tremolo

The maestro with his cedar-wood guitar
Played flamenco style in the local cafe' bar

They say he was the best musician in all the land
Acclaimed, adored, always played on demand

But suddenly his world went cold and so dark
When from the shadows came an oligarch

Told flamenco 'violated good taste and decency'
So they locked him up, tortured him sadistically

At first light in a courtyard up against a wall
Shots rang out, as he took his final curtain call

It happened then, it's still happening now
The crescent moon fights made the crowd cry 'Holy cow'

The ghetto's Star of David never cast any light
One less artist on the stage that night

His God forsook him when he was most alone
Where his body lies is a place that is still unknown 

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