The gypsies sing songs of the Dead Sea,
In their hymns they mention thee…
For men may a thousand times disagree,
They still carry on speaking of you and me.
Far beneath the bottom of the sea,
Pitch black, as the darkness can be.
For men may be wiser than they suppose,
But they still carry on envying you and me.
For men may say our love to be unfaithful,
The gifts of heaven and we were ungrateful.
For men may, through circumstances, see,
But they still carry on blaming you and me.
Though our story was not great to be unforgotten,
Though the desires we shared now remain rotten.
As men sit by sunset, calmly sipping their evening tea,
They still carry on, whispering of sagas of you and me.