Black Pearls

A Gypsy, my Mother,
My Father, an earl.
When he saw her dancing,
He promised her pearls.
When he saw her prancing
With passion and fire,
He paid gold to have her,
To have her, to have her.
He paid gold to have her,
And quench his desire.

I've no place to go,
There's no turning back.
All I own I can carry
Here in my pack.
Like a leaf that is blown
By a cold, lonely wind--
I'm swirling along
Down a road without end.

Bright gold he did give
To men who were strong.
They toppled her wagon,
Then dragged her along--
To his castle of stone,
In a tower so high.
He tore off her gown,
Her gown, her gown.
He tore off her gown,
And she spit in his eye!

I've no place to go,
There's no turning back.
All I own I can carry
Here in my pack.
Like a leaf that is blown
By a cold, lonely wind--
I'm swirling along
Down a road without end.

She was but a Gypsy,
And he was an earl.
When he'd spilled his seed,
He tossed her black pearls.
He toss them, he tossed them--
These pearls in my pack.
She gave them to me,
I'm bringing them back.

I've someplace to go,
There's no turning back.
All I own I can carry
Here in my pack.
Like a leaf that is blown
By a cold, lonely wind--
I'm swirling along
Down a road without end.

At twilight, I entered
His castle so high.
I climbed his strong tower,
Far up in the sky.
I tossed him black pearls,
Then I watched him die.
His blood on my hands,
On my hands, on my hands.
His blood on my hands,
And her knife in his eye.

I've no place to go,
There's no turning back.
All I own I can carry
Here in my pack.
Like a leaf that is blown
By a cold, lonely wind--
I'm swirling along
Down a road without end.

She was a Gypsy,
And he was an earl.
When he saw her dancing,
He promised her pearls.
When he saw her prancing,
That lithe, gorgeous girl,
He paid gold to have her,
To have her, to have her.
He paid gold to have her,
But she scorns black pearls.
He paid gold to have her,
But she scorns black pearls.

I've no place to go,
There's no turning back.
All I own I can carry
Here in my pack.
Like a leaf that is blown
By a cold, lonely wind--
I'm swirling along
Down a road without end.

c2010 Skip Johnson
All rights reserved

I've read in a book of the Gypsies, a race of about 12 million wanderers, about 2/3rds of whom live in the nations of Eastern Europe. They have no homeland, no dream of a homeland, no heroes, and no religion of their own. The Gypsies claim that when God was passing out religions in dictating the various Holy Books, that the Holy Book of the Gypsies was written down on cabbage leaves, and quickly became a donkey's dinner!

As a group, Gypsies have been persecuted in many nations through the centuries in a manner similar to the Jews. During World War II, they suffered in the Nazi concentration camps along with Hebrew people. Even in “good times” Gypsies suffer repeated exploitation. They live, on the average, only 2/3rds as long as the people around them.

Gypsies are natural storytellers, singers, and legend weavers—traveling entertainers among the nations they rove. They have an innate need to amuse those around them, and themselves, even if that means greatly embelishing a story--or telling an outright lie. At times, they have fallen into sexual exploitation and even turned to prostitution in order to survive. Their girls marry at the age of 12 or 13, and often have children of their own when they are still playing with dolls. They travel in caravans, with the richer having covered wagons with narrow windows, and the poor far less. The men lead the procession, with the women and children coming along behind in wagons. Only in recent times has their unusual language been reduced to writing.

This lyric is straight-forward storytelling, a tale of revenge by an exploited Gypsy girl on the powerful man who used her for his own brutal pleasure, then paid her in black pearls--as though she had agreed to sell what he had stolen from her. It is a dark tale, certainly—and sadly one that has been played out in endless variations by men who act on their passions, imagining themselves safe because of their position of power over their victims. In this sense, the Gypsy girl is every woman who has been sexually exploited. But on a deeper level, this ballad serves as a human illustration of a Divine truth recorded in the Holy Book of Christianity. The apostle James says:

“When tempted, no one should say,
'God is tempting me.'
For God cannot be tempted by evil,
nor does he tempt anyone;
but each one is tempted when,
by his own evil desire,
he is dragged away and enticed.
Then, after desire has conceived,
it gives birth to sin;
and sin, when it is full-grown,
gives birth to death.”
James 1:13-15 NIV

Here, the lecherous earl's evil desire literally concieved and gives birth to that, which when full grown, brings about his death—his own illegitimate son. Such half-breed children were counted as belonging to their mother's people. The earl's son is both the singer of this song, and also the equivalent of the Jewish Blood Avenger. He is honed as the means by which the Gypsy girl finally repays her perpetrator--and returns his black pearls.

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