At the pomana - the death feast - I missed him most

But I am relieved to know that under the stars of this cold, pellucid night

The ghost of the gypsy soldier is not without a home

No Romany man can live alone, our women are not alone

We carry our home in our hearts, our women wear topaz and dance

No, we will never-ever part: the man I killed is part of my family

The Gorgers and their police understand nothing of honour and respect

Gorgers love greed: like pigs they snort and slaver but unlike sister-pig the Gorgers hate their own kind

They love gold and cars and they accumulate, accumulate, accumulate. Why to do? 

I speak Polari so these Gorgers do not understand

How powerfully I hate them, look at them squabbling over coins:

They love money, pornography and power

I love my family and Didikai, my Romany friends

Who warned me about the ghost of the man I killed.

His Mulani-spirit follows me as I work and sleep and fight

Maybe when I return to Flanders his spirit will be gone

Sometimes I drink to remember and sometimes I drink  to forget.