If I could dance like a gypsy
all the world would be my fair,
and the swelling night would shimmer
like beads dangling in my hair.
If I could sing like a gypsy
no other voice would compare,
for my song would bleed brokenness
like the pain before a prayer.
If I could play like a gypsy
my pan flute would be the air,
and the earth would tremble at my tune
like a doe caught in a snare.
If I could live like a gypsy
I’d perform in the bright square,
before the world I’d light my fire;
before all I’d make my dare.