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Forest

de Robert Wyatt

Deep in the forest, the omens are bad
A cloud passes over the moon

Devil wind, bends the trees
A cloud passes over the moon

And the moon takes a peep when the gypsy girl sings
And her song rises up from the dark to the light
Like smoke to the sky when the gypsy girl sings at the river's edge

Tall trees grow while cold winds blow
Trees grow tall

Deep in the forest, the omens are bad
A cloud passes over the moon

White wolf waits, gray wolf howls
At the girl by the river's edge

The bullet head boys with their baby blue eyes
Their Donner and Blitzen, their lily white gadje
Religiously hatching their plots in the eyries of eagles

Tall trees grow while cold winds blow
Trees grow tall

And the moon takes a peep when the gypsy girl sings
And her song rises up from the dark to the light
Like smoke to the sky when the gypsy girl sings at the river's edge

But the moon's keeping watch at the gypsy girl sings
Sees her song rising up like smoke to the sky
From the dark to the light when the gypsy girl sings at the river's edge

The bullet head boys with their baby blue eyes
Their Donner and Blitzen, their lily white gadje
Religiously hatching their plots in the eyries of eagles

Like the sun on the forest her song rises up
From the ashes of Auschwitz, the death camp at Letty
The white cliffs of Dover, the song of the Roma lives on and on

And the moon takes a peep when the gypsy girl sings
And her song rises up from the dark to the light
Like smoke to the sky when the gypsy girl sings at the river's edge

But the moon's keeping watch at the gypsy girl sings
Sees her song rising up like smoke to the sky
From the dark to the light her song of her low life they sing along

Trees grow tall where winds blow cold
Tall trees grow

Tall trees grow while cold winds blow
Trees grow tall

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