Spain

The smell of tobacco brings me back to you
And overripe pears and plantains
It seems that in all of the big things I do
A memory of you remains

The dining hall says they serve gazpacho soup
But I know they don't have it right
And our nicest beaches will never compare
With Paseo Marítimo any old night

Inland, there are no chiringuitos,
I never see palm trees out here
And never in all of my travels
Has Africa felt quite so near

Or what of your castles, España?
Where now can I see your fútbol?
I'd like to revisit Casares
And rewatch the sun set on a late summer stroll

So my plans are sprinkled with saffron
I long for your imported sand
With Bécquer tattooed on my esperanzas,
I send my besos to your land