The eyes beat the sad mine and the jubilees
You no longer sleep,
you are only the shadow of yourself
Alone in the street you walk like a soul in pain
And all evening under his window we can see you
I know you love her
and she has pretty eyes
But you are too young to play lovers
And you are singing your mandolin,
my little baby
Your music is prettier
than all the sky of Algeria
And sing, sing your voice, my little baby
You can sing as much as you want,
she does not take you seriously
Oh
you are to do that.
You are to do that.
You are to do that.
You are to do that.
You are to do that.
You are to do that.
You are to do that.
You are to do that.
If you have too many torments,
don't keep them for yourself.
Go tell your mom.
Mom did it for that.
She cried in the soft shade of her arms.
Cry a lot and so much sorrow will fly away.