on the wet streets of seville (semana santa)

A: gm7 Bb
Eb cm7 :|| F

B: cm7 dm7 Eb :|| cm7 F7

On the wet streets of Seville,
We were walking as if on air
Past the shops of memorabilia
When Jesus entered the square.

The paint on His body was peeling.
His face was the portrait of pain.
We’d never seen such depth of feeling
Until we came to southern Spain.

Trains of men in capirotes
Swinging crosses in a colorful line
Led Him slowly down the alleyways.
As trombones moaned and trumpets whined.

Wreaths of roses around his sandles.
Countless flames wriggling in the rain.
We’d never seen so many glittering candles
Until we came to southern Spain.

Refrain:

Here in Andalusia:
Black bulls on the hills.
Jesus says, “Come lose yourself.”
We will. 
We did.

The square filled up with people.
The cathedral doors were opened wide.
With the bells ringing out from the steeples
The parade all floated inside.

With their Savior on their shoulders.
They just flowed in like blood in a vein.
We’d never seen such passion smolder.
Until we came to Southern Spain.

(Refrain)

© 2014 Zubsongs, Ltd.