A morning in July, without telling anyone, Riding his Rocinante

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A morning in July, without telling anyone, Riding his Rocinante, he went flying, escaping from his villa, With the wooden and cloth armor on and the spear in hand, The field called him, and his dream began to walk.

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A morning in July , without telling anyone , Riding his Rocinante , he went flying , escaping from his villa , With the wooden and cloth armor on and the spear in hand , The field called him , and his dream began to walk .

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A morning in July, without telling anyone, Riding his Rocinante, he went flying, escaping from his villa, With the wooden and cloth armor on and the spear in hand, The field called him, and his dream began to walk.

A morning in July, without telling anyone, Riding his Rocinante

A morning in July, without telling anyone, Riding his Rocinante, he went flying, escaping from his villa, With the wooden and cloth armor on and the spear in hand, The field called him, and his dream began to walk.

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