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.
E. 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. 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.