The violins weep with the Gypsies heading for Andalusia,
The violins cry for the Arabs departing Andalusia.
The violins cry for a lost time that will not return
The violins cry for a lost homeland that may yet be regained
The violins burn the forests of the far darkness
The violins wound the horizon, and smell the blood in my veins.
The violins are horses on a string of phantoms, and water groaning
The violins are a field of wild lilac that move forward and backward
The violins are a beast tortured by the nails of a woman who touches and then move away
the violins are an army that build a graveyard of marble and melodies
The violins are the anarchy of hearts picked up by the wind on a dancer's foot
the violins are flocks of birds seeking shade under an incomplete banner.
The violins are the complaints of the curled silk on a pa**ionate night
The violins are the effect of wine denied to an earlier thirst
The violins follow me, here and there, to avenge me
The violins are searching to k** me, wherever they find me.
The violins cry for the Arabs departing Andalusia,
the violins weep with the Gypsies heading for Andalusia.