Le Métèque

With my face of a metic, a wandering Jew, a Greek shepherd
And my hair blowing in the wind
With my eyes all washed out, giving me the look of dreaming
Me who doesn't dream often anymore.
With my hands of a thief, a musician, a wanderer
That have plundered so many gardens
With my mouth that has drunk, kissed, and bitten
Without ever satisfying its hunger
With my face of a metic, a wandering Jew, a Greek shepherd
A thief and a vagabond
With my skin that has been rubbed by the sun of all summers
And all that wore a skirt
With my heart that has known how to make suffer as much as it has suffered
Without making a fuss
With my soul that has no chance of salvation
To avoid purgatory
With my face of a metic, a wandering Jew, a Greek shepherd
And my hair blowing in the wind
I will come, my sweet captive, my soulmate, my living source
I will come to drink your twenty years
And I will be a prince of blood, a dreamer, or an adolescent
As you please to choose
And we will make of each day, a whole eternity of love
That we will live until we die
And we will make of each day, a whole eternity of love
That we will live until we die