Way To The Well – Michel Montecrossa

Morning to dusk touching Tunisian hills.
The bells round your ankles ring.
And deeper still a heart is yearning.
Me I’m on the way to the Well.
Me I’m on the way to the Well.

The palm-tree is gently bending with the wind.
Tents are gathered ‘round the fire of the night.
The movements of your body are near as is your soul.
And somewhere in the distance a nightingale calls.
And somewhere in the distance a nightingale calls.

Then I caught the memory of a comin’ time.
I shall know better with You in my mind.
The fruits are like a painting arranged by your hands.
Gentle is the secret of the Mystic Well.
Gentle is the secret of the Mystic Well.

Morning to dusk touching Tunisian hills.
The bells round your ankles ring.
And deeper still a heart is yearning.
Me I’m on the way to the Well.
Me I’m on the way to the Well.

The wide truthful vision of a woman’s heart
lost in self-giving like your love.
The deep profound call of a flute from the hills.
I’m musing near your breast, close to the well.
I’m musing near your breast, close to the well.

The ages of our fathers are gone since long.
The lords of the valley offer their song.
Protection on you and your daughters and sons.
The pounding of your heart is my living song.
The pounding of your heart is my living song.

Morning to dusk touching Tunisian hills.
The bells round your ankles ring.
And deeper still a heart is yearning.
Me I’m on the way to the Well.
Me I’m on the way to the Well.