When he first cried his mother died
I had tried to be his guide
When he was born I was too young
The father searches for the son in Istanbul
Give him back to me Istanbul
Give me back my brown eyed son

Moonlight jumping through the trees
Sunken eyes avoiding me
From dawn to dusk the hunt is on
The father searches for the son

On secret streets in disbelief
Little shadow shows the lead
Prostitutes stylish and glum
In amongst them you are one
Oh what have I done
Rolling breathless off the tongue
The vicious street gang slang

I lean into a box of pine
Identify the kid as mine