"You treat this place like a hotel, money speaks all language.
In this enchanted time of year when little children disappear!
He had a heart, as black as the souls of his feet.
Hidden deep behind those eyes, his fathers words were on his mind, I never listen to mother.

We will inherit the earth! Bask in its worth, making loose ends, meet our gypsy friends.
And when I reach that ripe old age I’ll look down and smile.

All the things we sacrificed to catch a glimpse of paradise.
In this enchanted time of year when little children disappear!
You should never trust you neighbours, for they’ll stab you in the back.
What do you write to a dying man who’s had life ripped from his hands?
I always listen to Father."

Eden

"I am sitting on the roof of your house, spewing vile volumes from my mouth..
Oh, it didn’t take me long to get here 'cos I got a leg from a leather faced man.
He’s not from this land..

I am waiting beside your bed, I got a wicker basket to take home your head,
Oh it didn’t take me long to get here 'cos I got a lift from the highway man.
He’s always lending me a hand..

And now the Ottoman is dead, the Black Sea has turned red.
Oh, it didn’t take him long to get her despite of the life he led..

There was a man with saffron in his hands, a man from Istanbul."

Man from Istanbul

"Lend me ten francs my friend, I’ll be in your debt 'till the end!
And the quartet played but they never got paid, crippled wealth to mend.
Monsieur and the renegade, eccentric and misbehaved,
And they hated love but they loved to hate, yet it put food on the plate..

The more you know, the more you know you need to know!
Four more years have past
The more you know, the more you know you need to know!
Four more years to last..

We both have hands to eat, we both have sneaky feet,
Beg? I’d rather steal a loaf of bread then it’s off to the guillotine and off with my head!
How dare you call me a fool, I was born two eyes and a monocle,
I’ll teach you roll your R’s, fist fight in bars, my dearest boy!

Raise the blade! For only your fleas will mourn you!!"

The Wolf who Cried Boy

"Rushing the Borders, is an outrageous, contageous banger with a guitar/violin melody of extreme power. It sounds as far east as India, but somehow maintains a localised punch, and when the verse comes in to a great background shout, it jumps to Gypsy-whoopa with a wonderfully crafty, eccentric English vocal. I can’t tell what it’s about, it feels Russian- Motherland, Jewish- fiddler on the roof.. The lyrics are available, and they’re just lovely words and sentences that make no sense."

"They recreate nothing but fun, wisdom, indivuality, technique, and awe."

The Silent Critic... http://thesilentcritic.tumblr.com/


Rushing The Borders

Klezma Villanova are a four piece from West London who play infectious, gypsy inspired, Folk/Punk. 

Klezma Villanova

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