There's a devil in my blood,
That wants to run the road,
There's a hunger in my veins,
To the road, my heart's been sold.
I'll cattch the wind and sail the sea,
And never will I rest,
For there's a gypsy in my blood,
And I have to meet its test.
The test is meeting poverty,
The war of heat and cold,
There's a stirring in my legs,
And I have to run the road.
There's a devil in my blood,
And a vagrant in my soul,
It's a nomad's life for me,
And I must play its role.
And if you see me wandering,
As I go about my way,
Bid me cheerful greetings,
It will bide me through the day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem