For the Hand of Magdelena

You couldn't believe when they told you that she'd never been 'round here before Thought she hung out in the Cologne Hotel, or with the Cubans in the Puerta Del Sol And when she smiled all you thought about was running up Suicide Hill And nothing short of a bullet could've broken your will And all for the hand of Magdelena Your boots planted in the soil of Spain (Your heart broken in the soil of Spain) (Your blood's red like the soil of Spain) Like her tears in the Spanish rain All for the Hand of Magdelena Clark Gable with a bayonet, you never thought anyone could look so cool And she could handle that Soviet pistol like she learned to do it in school You fell in love in an air raid, a bombshell sanctioned attraction You were wet with fear, she was wet with passion Your mother could never understand why her son took the call to arms And her father could never understand how she could fall for your Republican charms Magdelena, Magdelena, Magdelena... the choice was never ours In a week and a half you'll be walking down Forty-second street again And you can read it in the New York Times they're plagiarizing Ernest Hemingway And you can touch that spot where a fascist bullet nearly severed your arm But that's nothing like the way that your soul was scarred