A song about travels

Already our villages are fading away
Some ghosts accompany me
There will be deserts, mountains
To cross until Spain
And after
Inch'allah

We have bad shoes
Money sewn into our linings
The smugglers must be waiting for us, whatever little we have they will take
And after

Is Europe well guarded? I don't know
Are the customs officers armed? We'll see
If they tell me, it's each to their own, I'm fine with that, except at my place
Except at my place there's nothing

No living room, no kitchen
The children chew on roots
Just a square of dust
A mattress thrown on the ground
Above
Inch'allah

Maybe you imagine
That I've made all these kilometers
All this hope, all this courage
To stop against a fence?

Is Europe well guarded? I don't know
Will the customs officers shoot? We'll see
If they tell me, it's each to their own, I'm fine with that, except at my place
Except at my place there's nothing

Half of a scaffold
I don't ask for more
A trifle, a word, a gesture
Give me all that remains
And after
After, I don't know
And after, after
We'll see
I'm fine with that, except
Except at my place there's nothing

Already our villages are fading away

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