There's a word, for longing* For someone, or something, That can't be found, in our language. It's a type of anguish, our words don't know. 'Cause love goes, Like a gypsy shawl. Like an arrow, Love is fast, and life is slow. Like a jet plane, Like a single day. It comes, And goes away. I loved him, I love him still, Perhaps I never did, perhaps I always will. But I walked away, and he turned his back, Now all I'm counting is all I lack. 'Cause love goes, Like a gypsy shawl. Like an arrow, Love is fast, and life is slow. Like a jet plane, Like a single day. It comes, And goes away. There's a word, I've been searching for, That in my language goes unsaid. It's him, that I've been longing for, Now a memory in my head. Because love goes, Like a gypsy shawl. Like an arrow, Love is fast, and life is slow. Like a jet plane, Like a single day. It comes, And goes away.