عبدو
بين الشوارع صوت بيحوم
لقبوه عبدو المظلوم
قالوا مرة كان مغروم
بأرملة من بيت سلوم
قبرت قلبها والمرحوم
ونكرت صوته للمظلوم
عبدو يللي كان مغروم
قرر عن الحب يصوم
نسوان الحي مصمودين
ببيوت رجالها المخمورين
شوفي يا جارة شوفي مين
اجا يغني ها المسكين
وبيتدلوقوا محمومين
على الشارع مصفوفين
بإنتظار عبدو المسكين
ليغني بصوته الحزين
ورد خذي ورد يا ورد
ورد أحلى ورد يا ورد
ما إلو أريج هل ورد
دونك يا ورد يا ورد
Abdo
Around the city roams a
voice
Said to be that of 'Abdo the
doomed'
Who fell rather hard, without
a choice,
For a widow from the house
of Salloum
In his song, she heard but
clamor
The grave claimed both her
man and heart.
Abdo who was once enamored
Renounced
his love and fell apart.
All the town's women like prisoners
in houses,
Owned by their miserably drunken
spouses
Call at each other: 'Look
who it is!'
'He’s come to sing that sad
song of his!'
Suddenly, frenzied, like
cats in heat
The women all line up on the
streets
Waiting for ‘Abdo the
doomed’ to appear
And sing that song they yearn
to hear:
‘Roses, have some roses, my
rose
Roses, the finest of roses,
my rose
What sorcery renders all
roses scentless
But a heart that finds
itself alone and loveless.’
