| Young woman, share your fire with me
|
| My heart is cold, my soul is free
|
| I am a stranger in your land
|
| A wandering man, call me sand
|
| Oh sir, my fire is very small
|
| It will not warm thy heart at all
|
| But thee may take me by the hand
|
| Hold me, and I’ll call thee sand
|
| Young woman, share your fire with me
|
| My heart is cold, my soul is free
|
| I am a stranger in your land
|
| Wandering, call me sand
|
| At night when stars light up my sky
|
| Oh sir, I dream my fire is high
|
| Oh, taste these lips sir if you can
|
| Wandering man, I’ll call thee sand
|
| Oh sir, my fire is burning high
|
| If thee should stop sir, I would die
|
| The shooting star has crossed my land
|
| Wandering man, she whispered… Sand (sand)
|
| Young woman shared her fire with me
|
| Now warms herself with memories
|
| I was a stranger in her land
|
| A wandering man, she called me sand
|
| He was a stranger in my land
|
| A wandering man
|
| She called me
|
| Sand |