When you went away, Gypsy,

You only left

A car in pieces.

You took bamboo chairs,

Your worthless guitar,

You put the wind under your skin.

You’ve caressed birds,

You’ve caressed birds.

 

You put stones into the fire.

Women with long hair

Washed everything in buckets,

Dried the linen upon bushes,

Brought back the kids into trucks,

In reed baskets.

And caressed birds.

Where were you going?

 

Except for the mud puddles

And some wheel tracks,

You didn’t want to leave anything.

 

You put your gypsy pride

On the caravans’ curtains,

As folded flags.

You’ve caressed birds,

Caressed birds.

Where were you going ?

 

I am afraid of city lights,

Of big still houses,

Of gardens built all around.

I am afraid that one automatically takes,

At the end of militias’ riffles,

The children of our love.

 

They call our daughters thieves,

From the bottom of their fearful houses,

Full of fighting dogs.

 

They attach their poultry,

They watch their scraps,

We are not alike…

 

There are signs since:

«Forbidden Location»

As if there had been a plague.

You just have to look somewhere else

For less frighten people,

Hoping that some still remains.

And caress birds!