Before I reached the Nasrid Palaces

 

Black rain lashed the streets of Granada,
I went there to forget;
The smell of Ducados lifted me
into bars strewn with shreds of paper,

I thought it exotic

but was told it was filth,
A bullfighter, triumphant on TV,
Riding shoulder high,
held aloft the dripping trophies,
red stained the gold,
then they dragged the corpse away,

and raked the sand to begin again.