The Squall1929

Nubi:
Always, the gypsies, they sing. Weird and sad. When the big sun have breathe of fire that burns and when the pale moon look from behind cloud and breathe air as cold as death. They sing. But, the girl the gypsies, they steal, she never sing. Never. Always she cry inside. All the tears of her heart. Because she has no one to love. They go. They go for always. Nubi, she say, no more gypsies. No more, Nubi cry.