Текст песни
We march eastward from the setting sun
Where the moon’s round face shines upon
I curse you with foul words, it’s true
But without spite — I’m an old man through and through
You’ll adjust with a trembling hand
A lock of grey, tangled hair
I’ll reveal in a toothless grin so bland
My mouth — like an old dog, worn and bare
Shuffling like a mangy beast, I’ll tread
That stretch of road, slow and leaden
Where, at the end, through the death arch dread
We both must pass, as fate has bidden
Hail to you, cunning Fates, so sly!
All you want is mockery, to jeer
No gifts from fate came my way, not nigh
So why should I now shed a tear?
Death will beckon with bony hand
Grinning grimly, with scythe held high
No one will remember us, understand
Only Mother Earth will sigh
So press close, dear old woman, tight
Embrace the old man one last time
I’ll whisper hotly in your ear
My senile ramblings, wild and queer
