It's like an eclipse
And the whiteness of sails
Of women holding a son
He held in his hands
The first words of love
To you, they were marbles
We made up in our heads
On the beaches of Hammamet
And that dock drifting away
For a day that starts
Maybe it's a chance
Those scents of bygone days
And the whiteness of sails
Of women holding a son
He held in his hands