I dreamed that I saw you once down in Morocco
Your clothes were so old they were new
You spoke to the Bedouins in their own language
Of silver and crimson and blue
They said that your singing had altered their vision
And yet nothing really had changed
The dust from the desert rose up from your eyelids
You said you had conquered the chains
The white wind around us as we stood there talking
The wind and the sun and the sky in your eyes
Was driving you mad I could see
And in any language I knew they were saying
The future is cutting us free
We walked in the desert; your hands were like velvet
Free-e e e e-e-e
Free-e e e e-e-e
Free-e e e e-e-e
Free-e e e e