El Zorro rides across the midnight skies,
and leaving trails of carved signs, marks of 'Z'
but who is there behind the masked, dark eyes,
the deepest secret never revealed to thee.
A blade reflects the moon's silver light,
as gypsy dances, swirling velvet skirts,
to catch the eyes behind the masked insight,
her touch still lingers on my black shirts.
A phantom rider, poet defender,
a hero fighting a maiden's distress,
her mystic blade, a caped pretender,
and leaving my 'Z' in her red dress.
My senorita come show me your dance,
behind my mask is a heart of romance.
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