Penelope
With her brown leather handbag
And her high heels
And her Sunday dress.
Penelope
Sits on a platform bench
And waits for the first train to arrive
Waving the fan.
They say in the village
That a walker stopped his watch
On one spring afternoon
"Farewell my love do not weep for me
I'll be back, before the willow trees
Shed their leaves,
Think of me, I'll come back for you".
Poor wretch, your childish clock stopped
One leaden April afternoon
When your lover went away.
In your orchard, withered
Lays every single flower
There is no willow in
Main Street for Penelope.
Penelope,
Sadness by dint of waiting
Your eyes seem to shine
If a train whistles in your eyes .
Penelope,
One after another she sees them pass by
She looks at their faces, she hears them talk
To her they are dolls.
They say in the village
That the wayfarer returned
He found her on his green pine bench
He called out to her: "Penelope, my faithful lover, my peace
Stop weaving dreams in your mind,
Look at me, I am your love, I am back".
She smiled at him, her eyes full of yesterday.
Her face and her skin didn't use to be like that
"You're not who I expect"
And she kept her brown leather handbag
And her high heels
Sitting at the station...
Sitting at the station.