Marrakesh Night Market

<br>They`re gathered in circles<br>the lamps light their faces<br>The crescent moon rocks in the sky<br>The poets of drumming<br>keep heartbeats suspended<br>The smoke swirls up and then it dies<br><br><br>Would you like my mask?<br>would you like my mirror?<br>cries the man in the shadowing hood<br>You can look at yourself<br>you can look at each other<br>or you can look at the face of your god<br><br><br>The stories are woven<br>and fortunes are told<br>The truth is measured by the weight of your gold<br>The magic lies scattered<br>on rugs on the ground<br>Faith is conjured in the night market`s sound<br><br><br>Would you like my mask?would you like my mirror?<br>cries the man in the shadowing hood<br>You can look at yourself<br>you can look at each other<br>or you can look at the face of your god<br><br><br>The lessons are written<br>on parchments of paper<br>They`re carried by horse from the river Nile<br>says the shadowy voice<br>In the firelight, the cobra<br>is casting the flame a winsome smile<br><br><br>Would you like my mask?<br>would you like my mirror?<br>cries the man in the shadowing hood<br>You can look at yourself<br>you can look at each other<br>or you can look at the face of your god