Early morning scent of orange
Carried on the wind.
Blowing from the mountain tops
Down into Shiraz.
The city holds a secret
A secret no one knows.
Calling from the rocks and streams
Calling to Shiraz.
I cross the mountains to Shiraz.
I eat the oranges of Shiraz.
Through the gate, into Shiraz.
We are pilgrims on a road
Our feet have never walked.
Every turn and every fork,
Leads into Shiraz.
I cross the mountains to Shiraz.
I eat the oranges of Shiraz.
Through the gate, into Shiraz.