Yerushalaïm (Yerushalaïm / English Version) Charles Aznavour

Like a painter, my mind sketches
A strange and haunted land, Yerushalaïm
But the daydream my brain etches
Soon crumbles into sand, Yerushalaïm

Like the homeless hoard, whose hope is restored
Just at the sound of your name
From across the seas, on my bended knees
Hungry and tired, I came
To breathe fresh air and enter prayer
Fly, Yerushalaïm

With the hammer, you have driven
This passion in my breast, Yerushalaïm
Thorns of anguish have not given my heart
A moment's rest, Yerushalaïm

Then the pharaohs, as our mortal foes
Ripping me harshly from you
My lips uttered cries, ears spin from my eyes
As ancient wounds bled anew

And though I'm far from your sacred star
I'll be back again
Wait and see, back again
Wait for me, Yerushalaïm