When a Gypsy Makes Her Violin Cry
My lips are still
but a haunting thrill
fans a smouldering fire
When a gypsy makes her magic strings sigh
Again to me
comes the memory
of an old desire
She draws her bow
and seems to know
That love once hurt my heart
And as she plays for me
I'm lost in reverie
How I treasure every measure till
The last notes die
When a Gypsy Makes Her Violin Cry.
