| I could tell you stories like the government tells lies
|
| Oh, but no one listens any more
|
| In the rooms the women come and go Talking on the mobile phones
|
| And the television talks about the war
|
| When I was a baby there was laughter in my house
|
| And my daddy smoked domestic cigarettes
|
| Thursday nights on the radio live in concert
|
| Live from Cairo, mother of Egypt
|
| Mama, mama
|
| Be with me With the music in your breast
|
| In your glittering evening dress
|
| And the white flag in your fist trembling
|
| I could tell you stories like the past was dead and gone
|
| But I know nothing changes in this world
|
| Every day the muezzin calls
|
| Sun comes up and Baghdad falls
|
| Before the eyes of storytelling girls
|
| She was just a poor man’s daughter
|
| Going down into the sultan’s bed
|
| He was desert, she was a water
|
| And he remembered every word she said
|
| She said and I say
|
| Grandma, grandma
|
| Be with me In your tragic wedding gown
|
| With your long hair hanging down
|
| And the stories tumbling out
|
| Tumbling
|
| I could tell you stories like the government tells lies
|
| Oh, but no one listens any more
|
| In the rooms the women come and go Talking on the mobile phones
|
| And the television talks about the war
|
| About the war
|
| And the television talks about the war |