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.