The wind knows no border… The tide, no flag. Drums of dust, drums of tide, The sea went dry, but the stars still guide. From the dunes to the Devil’s reef, We trade our pain, we share belief. Sands of the Black Flag, burnin’ slow, Whispers of thunder where no waves go. Voices of water, hearts of flame, Lost in the wind, we’re all the same. A tidinit cries in the night wind’s hand, The hurdy-gurdy hums of a distant land. Two songs, one grief, one fire, one sky, The desert sings, the sea replies. “Ya Bahr el Ashbah…” “O maraiche dubh…” Sands of the Black Flag, drift and fade, Bones and sails in the songs we made. No sea, no shore, no master’s name ... The storm and the desert are both the same.
