At the pomana - the death feast - I missed him most
I am relieved to know that under the stars of this cold, pellucid night
The ghost of the gypsy soldier I killed is not without a home
No Romany man can live alone, our women are not alone
We carry our home in our hearts, our women wear topaz and dance
No, we will never-ever part. The man I killed is part of my family.
Gorgers and their police understand nothing of honour and respect
Gorgers love greed: like pigs they snort and slaver 
But unlike sister-pig the Gorgers hate their own kind
They love gold and cars and accumulate, accumulate, accumulate.
Why to do? 
I speak Polari so these Gorgers do not understand
How powerfully I hate them, look at them squabbling over coin:
They love money, pornography and power
I love my family and Didikai, my Romany friends
Who warned me about the ghost of the man I killed.
His Mulani-spirit follows me as I work and sleep and fight
Maybe when I return to Flanders his spirit will be gone
Sometimes I drink to remember
Sometimes I drink  to forget.