Did you try to buy some dried fruits? The muslim neighbourhood
Offers you pastries with no flies, they’re pushed away by makeshift fans
Of motors and wires. The grottoes look down on us
Up on their sixteen centuries carvings are filled with memories
Of the Northern silk road
So what about preserving harmony, heavenly purity
The palace of gathering elegance (or excellence), climbing up the mountain
Of embracing beauty? Beside the lion grove
Misled by multicoloured panes, Alice is lost within the maze
And its hollow white windows
Now they’re really doing their best for each nation’s with all the rest
A joint pavilion, not forty tents, still many pictures of presidents
It might be their only brands
Better city, better life, the community has turned on the lights
A continent where darkness is rife but it’s the best mood on this bank
It’s good to see folks that are frank
Millions of people, vermilion temples
Is being there enough? Memories will be rough
The yellow, red and green ceiling of the market disappears day after day and bit by bit
The golden pavilion’s reflection will fade when you turn your back on it
Shoot less, eat more. Shoes waiting at the door
Since you can’t take any pictures of this land, you’ll steal everything, you’ll get everything else
Who’s taking good care of the thousand armed statues, the white paint on the walls?
Have one last look at the hillside, at the platform with no nails, at the wooden halls
An expensive espresso, no it can’t be so
Broken down, unable, it made you a cannibal
Angry at tourists who come to your country and take hundreds of photos of a single tree
I’m only interested in what’s not mine, ingest all I can before there’s no more time
Before the fight starts experts wonder about today’s winners and chances
The stadium grass is full of drummers, the fiery air of chants and dances
After more than a hour come the fighters covered with oil for the ritual
Performing some magic to get good luck, sport’s never been so spiritual
They know the amounts of the prizes. Some say that muscles don’t matter
So they want to limit surprises – the marabout trainer knows better
The second the game is over, the city awakes in a clamor
A small kid is driving a scooter another one cries, he’s bewildered
