Zorba is singing

He dances
He drinks wine
He sings again
Plays on the santoori
With his hand on the shoulder of the twilight hour
Zorba sings

He drinks wine
He sings again
Inhaling the scent
Of the night's breast
He drinks
Zorba is dancing

Smeared all over
With the fresh hue of the dawn
Zorba drinks
He frisks and pranks
With the different wines
Of the different isles
Zorba sings
Plays on the santoori
Athens is singing
Sparta is singing
Lesbos is singing
Delphi too is singing
All the islands
Are dancing
The Mediterranean
Is drinking wine
Climbing over the waves
The little breeze swims
Zorba is singing

No colour of virtue
No stain of sin
Zorba sings
Gone are the Turks
Gone are the Romans
Gone are the Persians
Gone are the Germans
Who will come next
Is not known
Whoever comes
We shall drive him out
We shall keep
To the path of truth
Crying so, possessed,
Zorba sings

When it grows dark
He plays on the santoori
He dances
He drinks wine

Zorba is singing