Sacromonte - Soy Gitano

In old towns roam old souls, freely flying safe from dying never needing, daily daring driving never lying, no need to flee, no roads to see, no place to go, no home to leave. Free to be and breathing free. Life's easy breeze with no eyes to see.

Along the narrow calles and caminos go, the songs of Luna, the stars of Granada and the rivers that rush down deep to meet the spinning wishes of giddy day-dreamers tripping and flicking coins of centimos, wading in over their heads again and again as they wash themselves down to the core of Cadiz and far out to sea.

Only the tears of a child can sing when you know you're being led, guided by the Hand of Fatima, so gentle and tender, mano-a-mano, through the streets of Sacromonte, so sacred and scarred but never beaten or scared, facing east and outwards, looking past the miradors of morning to last night's dawning to show the lights of Granada beginning to wake.

Burning at night with wanton white light, scalding desire, flying through fire, laughing and singing, skipping and kicking and twirling with mad dervish swirling, twisting and yearning, no longer a burden, firing free, floating true, blazing through black skies, comets without eyes, scream out with tails long, loving, azure.

Cast out your spells as my love bawls for more, rattle those dishes with the wafer-thin wishes, so precious and priceless, momumental and timeless in the presence of beauty, in your heart in your gardens, all year round all day long, up in the air as I am now, lost to a moment, chained to a lifetime, clawing at wild oceans of wanting, charging and slapping, coming at me with both hands clapping, cupped and snarling, silent and smiling... sweet sweet Andalucia, never, never tame me.