You were born to fight, guy,
You were born to win,
But now, brave, You are dying
And pain strikes You, keen.
You lived under this hot Sun
Were breathing in Spanish air
Scratching arena’s sands
But didn’t for life care.
Say “Bye!” to Your lovely place
It’s time, but crowd claims
“Torero!” Get up, go on
But Your mind faints…
Blood, drop by drop falls
Bull is furious
Your last call
Will hear millions…
One more try, guy
You were born to win
Brave, try to smile
You did no sin.
You won’t see the compassion
And You don’t need this…
Just Your Donna will stay with passion
Seeing Your victories degrees…
Bye, brave, courageous guy
Bye, close Your eyes,
Sun will shine
Rain will cry,
You beautifully died
Under Your lovely Spanish sky.
January 11, 1997. Saturday. Moscow.