Notched olive branches
like the faces of the elderly
the longing still tugs at the heart
when the sparrows take flight
the children in the meantime are sunk
in the secrets of their games
recruits dream about home
and the elderly about the distant past
Come, wind from the sea
with the beating of the wings of doves
and bring from someplace else
another warm regards.
come truly
to the tanned cheek
come, wind from the sea
with the beating of the wings of doves
The evening hour is slowly weaned
from the burning sun
a window is opened, the door as well
and the neighborhood is ready.
the parents still need their child
and the city needs it's tumult
and we are one for another
and the song to the melody
Come, wind from the sea...