I walked these cobbled streets of Faro
Between houses of great age
And feel as if Im an actor
And this is but a stage.
And a head of me are crowds of Romanies
Men in hats, women in long skirts standing round
And children running up and down the street
Such a scene I found
I know not was it a funeral
Or a wedding that was on
I walked by and turned the corner
And so that scene was gone
And an echo of my shoes resounded
As on the cobblestones I walked
The only other shound was of a motorist
Who loudly into a mobile talked.
A few passing cars marked the time
As each street looked the same
As the ones before them
Along through which I'd came
And round what looked like a castle
I strolled myself to please
While on the streets of Faro
I ambled at my ease.
No town is complete without its charachters
And such a man I did find there
He looked akin to a hippy
With long scraggly hair.
He was doing for a tenner a potrait in pencil
And I said why not give him a try
He giving something, not asking something for nothing
So I stopped as I passed by...
The man he was from Flanders
And as my sketch he drew
We chatted at ease of life and art
As if forever each other we knew.
And then a passing stranger
Stopped to see him draw and chat a while
As in ten minutes, maybe more
He drew a picture, the stranger did smile...
An open case of pencils
Had a name on it within
Scratched on the lid and coloured black
I assumed was his name on the tin.
Only to be told not indeed was it
It was found in a cave
In Spain, abondoned by another
Providence to the artist it gave.
Who studied archtecture in college
But seeked to earn his way
By doing potrait sketches
For passing strangers each day.
And so he earned his living
He had little of which to brag
Lived out of his rucksack
His life was in that bag
And yet, has he not the life
None to care for but he
No worries of recession
Maybe hes the one thats rich, not me...
For I go back to my life
Worry about drops in wages and mt very job
An bills to pay for luxuries I dont need
I slave, though not physically, for my few bob
Maybe to live on less would be better
And be happy with the little we have got
For all the riches capitalism brings
Happiness it brought us not.
And with a handshake we parted
And I to eat I went
Chicken Cordon Bleau with beer
And I sat to eat content
I could live here forever
Relaxed such was the life pace
And now I understood what the Germans said of Banagher
When they came on holiday to that place
Where I grew up and though of little
All those years ago
As there was little prospects
And the pace of life was slow
Progess and the race for money
Takes from our lives the joy
That Gerans found in the little town
I lived in as a boy.
That peace I found in Faro
While walking a cobbled street
In the old town that was deserted
The only sound my feet
As along its ancient streets I walked
Like an actor on a stage
That seemed he does not belong
On these streets of such an age.
|
