From the edges of that southern neighborhood
my father's house returns to my dream(s)
With beautiful hours of grace
and the summer on the balcony
my father's house returns to my dream(s)
There it stands among the stands
in a soft cloud of spices
Between sacs on the pavement
from which he brought a loaf of bread
there he stands among the stands
My father's house sits at the table*
between the weekdays and a day of holiday
In prayers at dusk
on the bread on the home
my father's house sits at the table
Yes, there it is, my father's house sits at the table
There it is, my father's house still stands there
And my father still stands there
but without his sons and without his heirs
And I still remember the smell of spices and summer
my father's house still stands there