Some night-time friends of ours, called as tramps
and watch us and salute us from the skies
they come in the dark like thieves
they play and feel pain and sing to us
their memories which human mind cannot approach
Let's go to the bouzoukia of angels
which remind the days of Byzantium
throw away your known black dresses
and put in your soul, human voices
At nights some strangers, for years lifetimers
they gospel some songs nowadays holly ones
at heaven's gate like security soldiers
their songs and their touch
sing us their songs and silently cry
Let's go to the bouzoukia of angels
which remind the days of Byzantium
throw away your known black dresses
and put in your soul, human voices
...
τα μεράκια τους που δεν τα πιάνει ο νους