Testo Cairo

Where the dark streets wind in Cairo, Where the howling jackal mourns, There the bazaar alley beggars Twist their limbs into the wind. Where the fan blades turn in Cairo, In the swirling evening heat, Lemon teas in the cafe, Parchment scraps in the street. In the Grand Hotel in Cairo, Grizzled men sell contraband, Hurry, hear the Half-tracks crawling, Like insects through the sand. Shadow run like ink over dunes to dark the Nile, Shadows run like ink to the Valley of the Kings.