No one knows where my story begins. 
Bohemienne. 
I was born on a road that bends. 
Bohemienne, bohemienne. [bad word] tomorrow I`ll wander again. 
Bohemienne, bohemienne. 
Here`s my fate in the lines of my hand.

E. My mother told me tales of Spain, I think that`s where she longed to be. 
Of mountain bandits she once sang, Andalusia`s memory. 
There in the mountains she was free, my mother, father all are gone. 
And I`ve made Paris be my home. 
I dream of oceans rolling on, they take my heart where I [bad word]  
Andalusia mountain home. 

Bohemienne. 
No one knows where my story begins. 
Bohemienne. 
I was born on a road that bends. 
Bohemienne, bohemienne. [bad word] tomorrow, I`ll wander again. 
Bohemienne, bohemienne. 
Here`s my fate in the lines of my hand. 

When I was a child in Provence, Bare foot in the hills I danced once. 
But the gypsy road is so long, the roads so long. 
Everyday I see a new chance, maybe some road will lead from France. 
I will follow till [bad word] home, Till [bad word] home. 

Andalusia`s [bad word] through my [bad word] through my daydreams. 
Andalusia`s sky, when it calls me, I feel my heart fly. 

Bohemienne. 
No one knows where my story begins. 
Bohemienne. 
I was born on a road that bends. 
Bohemienne, bohemienne. [bad word] tomorrow I`ll wander again. 
Bohemienne, bohemienne. 
Here`s my fate in the lines of my hand. 
Here`s my fate in the lines of my hands.