A few months back, perhaps a year or more, I started writing a song about a gypsy needing charms, small bits of something to keep him safe. An ode to a lover and the weight of silence that turned my heart cold. I decided to finish the song today.
Here are some of the lyrics:
‘Her gypsy lover tells her that he needs a charm. He’s gonna cross the mountains and the oceans, leave his ancestors alone.
Here’s a little jar filled with night. Place it under your pillow so your dreams can take flight.
She hands him a little concoction made with the greatest of care. She knows she’ll never see his long limbs or touch his beautiful hair.
Here’s a little jar filled with the sun. And an empty bag of promises. Bring it back to me when you’re undone…’
I enjoyed writing this and the small recording I made, as one can hear the entire family laughing and mulling in the kitchen.
I like to think that when we reflect on the lockdown we were forced into, they will recall me singing, the smell of food, kids scuttling around and the ease we feel around each other.
And Daddy asking for Harry Belefonte to be played as the soup is made after I walked away from the piano.