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letra de cibola - employer, employee

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you know it’s time to sail home/ when your conquests leave you starving and stranded/ and all the courses plotted/ encapsulate less than what was demanded/ when the tricks of scurvy begin bending bones/ and wanderl-st no longer beleaguers the throne:/ give up the ghosts/ there is no golden city/ fabled and cantankerous beyond all repair/ and you’re not the first to be held/ by a land no less than hostile to those of your shade/ but relax, conquistador/ n0ble in your servitude/ your crippling thirst hears not a stream/ it’s just the sound of your stomach digesting itself/ if you find strength to smile/ to part parched lips dry as stiff as autumn leaves/ you have one chance/ because the natives have never, ever seen horses/ trade to the gods your shine/ mother spain left you behind

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