When he first cried. His mother died. I had tried to be his guide. When he was born I was too young. The father searches for the son. In Istanbul. Give him back to me. Oh Istanbul. Give me back my brown-eyed son. Moonlight jumping through the trees. Sunken eyes avoiding me. From dawn to dusk the hunt is on. The father searches for the son. In Istanbul. Give him back to me. In Istanbul. Give me back my brown-eyed son. On secret streets in disbelief. Little shadow shows the lead. Prostitutes stylish and glum. In amongst them you are one. Oh what have I done?. . Rolling breathless off the tongue. The vicious street gang slang. I lean into a box of pine. Identify the kid as mine