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The fickle finger of fate took me to Spain
For a thousand years they've been killing the bulls
all the same
Religion's still a bloodsport here
God the mass of Spain still fears
The People right for a time
'Til the matador fades and meets me on down the line

Then I saw where Caesar was stabbed and then he
was burned
He came, he saw, he conquered then he returned
Now there's nothing left but some statues there
Where the Greeks and the Romans reared
A people right for a time
'Til they fade away and meets me on down the line

Speak to me in Spanish all night long
Wake me with Italian at the dawn
French can fade with Latin into the past
As for the kiss, the French can kiss my ass

So I head on home to the good old US of A
A land so new we're still cutting our teeth on today
God's still trying to shine his grace
On the nation born of every race
The people right for the times
But someday we might fade and meet you on down the line
But someday we might fade and meet you on down the line