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Riccardo Cocciante
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Bohémienne
My mother told me tales of Spain, I think that's where she longed to be.
Of mountain bandits she once sang, Andalusia's memory.
There in the mountains she was free, my mother, father all are gone.
And I've made Paris be my home.
I dream of oceans rolling on, they take my heart where I must come.
Andalusia mountain home.
Bohemienne.
No one knows where my story begins.
Bohemienne.
I was born on a road that bends.
Bohemienne, bohemienne.
Come tomorrow, I'll wander again.
Bohemienne, bohemienne.
Here's my fate in the lines of my hand.
When I was a child in Provence, Bare foot in the hills I danced once.
But the gypsy road is so long, the roads so long.
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Everyday I see a new chance, maybe some road will lead from France.
I will follow till I come home, Till I come home.
Andalusia's streams, run through my blood, run through my daydreams.
Andalusia's sky, when it calls me, I feel my heart fly.
Bohemienne.
No one knows where my story begins.
Bohemienne.
I was born on a road that bends.
Bohemienne, bohemienne.
Come tomorrow I'll wander again.
Bohemienne, bohemienne.
Here's my fate in the lines of my hand.
Here's my fate in the lines of my hands.
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