The whirlwind whispers down the street 
And silent stealthy sandled feet 
Trip so lightly past my boarded window sill, 
I wait. 
 
The sun is bright and blinds the eyes, 
The air is thick and deep with flies, 
Yet the silent Afghan skies are only empty, still 
I wait. 
 
     I wait for Night, come when it will, 
     In timeless Afghan insolence. 
 
We sit collected in our rooms, 
The air is clogged with hashish fumes, 
Ever puffing, ever dreaming womblike worlds, 
We wait. 
 
Outside our room the air is clean, 
But full of things we've always seen, 
So keeping to our cloudy dream, we turn and then 
We wait 
 
     We wait for Day, come known not when 
     In timeless Afghan innocence. 
 
A gentle tapping at our door, 
We crack it open, "Who's it for?" 
They come in silence, them and more, in the room 
They wait. 
They settle softly in the fumes, 
Their flowing robes and beads and plumes, 
The pipe is passsed, the scene resumes, and Herat nods 
They wait. 
 
     They wait for Then, come as it has 
     In timeless Afghan irreverence. 

 
Am 
The whirlwind whispers down the street 
 
    E 
And silent stealthy sandled feet 
 
Am                              E 
Trip so lightly past my boarded window sill, 
 
  Am    E 
I wait. 
 
 
    Am 
The sun is bright and blinds the eyes, 
 
    E 
The air is thick and deep with flies, 
 
Am                                   E 
Yet the silent Afghan skies are only empty, still 
 
  Am 
I wait. 
 
 
       F                    Em 
     I wait for Night, come when it will, 
 
        G        G7     Am 
     In timeless Afghan insolence.