Once in old Turkmenistan there lived a clan
whose name revered throughout the land

they broke camp, packed tents
and to landlords paid no rents

head to tail their camels marched off in a steady line
singing to the birds above they had no need for wine

for they were already drunk on the wind and freedom of nomadic life
not cooped up in homes owned by the bank quarrelling with the wife

the vast star studded sky in the middle of the dark moonless night
as far as the eye could see and meteor showers put things to right

I was a black hawk then high up in thunder clouds hunting and living free
not tethered to a falconer’s gloved hand fetching fowl before morning tea

Oh to live again at that time when the world was young
unlike the boring world of cities and suburbs its become

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