Dabka Basman Derawi
Dancing in the middle of the street, Moving inside storms of adrenaline In a caged city, never a caged soul. You stole my land but never my identity. Dabka is in our blood You will never steal it. Step right, step left, jump up move to the tabla and timbrel Hand in hand across the floor, Keffiyah shakes at every shoulder up. Sweat is the fruit of joy, watering our roots in Palestine. Let olive leaves rustle, hands clapping. Let us dance, then fly free like birds.
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