Jealous, jealous,
Flowers and wind,
Andalusian dances,
And gulls,
Jealous, jealous,
Like children,
From what takes me
Your heart for a moment.

That bird of passage
That sings and is deaf,
And comes the stormy evenings
To speak to you of love,

That brilliant in your eyes
That I light sometimes,
For a naught, for a game
Or that I light me,

These women who shield you
From a hip movement
Because they read Sunday
Written in their zodiac,

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