While the gypsies dance around on the fairgrounds down trod grass they grin, and I can hear their music coming from everywhere as
if born from the wind.
Nothing can take away the arousing energy the men resemble, nor the beauty of their women, clad in dresses so
I am in heaven every night, when the gypsies dance
dancing in small steps, making the gravel jump in a colour
display, reflecting the light of the shiny torches, burning their fuel away.
Thousands of light bulbs illuminate the summer night in
eerie shapes that twist and turn and makes me dizzy with excitement and euphoria.
Oh, to be in heaven My words are too weak