“Promise me,” she whispered, “the years won’t take this.”
She saw him. Her lips parted. Twenty years collapsed into a single breath. She walked toward him, slowly, as if approaching a grave she’d been told was empty.
Cem’s glass slipped from his fingers and shattered. Ferdi Tayfur - Gitmeyin Yillar Turkuola 1986
The years, of course, never listen.
“No,” she said. “They never do.” “Promise me,” she whispered, “the years won’t take
Don’t go, years. Don’t go.
Don’t go, years. Don’t go.
Now, in the tavern, the song reached its peak—Ferdi’s voice cracking like old leather: “Durun, zamansız geçmeyin…” Stop, don’t pass out of season…
“Promise me,” she whispered, “the years won’t take this.”
She saw him. Her lips parted. Twenty years collapsed into a single breath. She walked toward him, slowly, as if approaching a grave she’d been told was empty.
Cem’s glass slipped from his fingers and shattered.
The years, of course, never listen.
“No,” she said. “They never do.”
Don’t go, years. Don’t go.
Don’t go, years. Don’t go.
Now, in the tavern, the song reached its peak—Ferdi’s voice cracking like old leather: “Durun, zamansız geçmeyin…” Stop, don’t pass out of season…