He sees the spaces in the crowd
He's the gypsy king of Forest Hill
Once when he was dark and thin
When he played his violin
Girls gathered round at every show
The Devil sat behind his bow
In his dead face, his eyes are bright
They see the corners of the night
He's the gypsy king of Forest Hill
The good times he remembers still
He filled the room with every trill
Now he sleeps through every day
And hopes his magic touch will stay
There was lustre in his gold
Before the nights grew sad and cold
He's the gypsy king of Forest Hill
You would say his songs are hot
Even if his band are not
Though he's old he still has skill
He’d murder you if looks could kill
His face is white, he’s too fat now
He sees the spaces in the crowd
He's the gypsy king of Forest Hill
Giuseppe Tartini quoted in Lalande's Voyage d'un François en Italie (1765 - 66)
The fiddler
The old roué eyes the thinning crowd
The pub is empty, the band too loud
He is portly now, pale his skin
He views the vacant seats, recalling when
He wowed the festivals with his bow
His thin moustache curled, and how
With his bolero jacket, pencil thin
He could astonish with his violin
Then there was lustre in his gypsy gold
Before the gigs dried up, the nights grew cold
The girls would whoop with surprise
He played them with his fiddle and his eyes
On this weekday night, in this sad place
His dark eyes flash in his pale face
They say that even here, he is hot
A gypsy balladeer. The band are not
They do it for pin money and beer
The men who played in … insert name here
