Am Fluß [English translation]

Night falls, do you also see the old willows, over there, on the riverbank?

Come within their shadows to refresh your tired feet

Like the branches of these willows do in the water... See how dense and heavy they are!

We are protected for the night.

Our fears for tomorrow morning,

The current will carry them off to the sea.

And a light wind blows through the green hair of the weeping willows.

Do you also hear the whispering, that voice barely louder than the water of the river?

I'd love to listen to it, and not just ask the question, "What will become of the two of us?"

Because deep down, I know I ought to be afraid of the answer.

That blaze on the horizon and the air that smells of fire,

From the other shore the disturbing mist that crawls toward us,

Let's wait quietly until later. As soon as the wind turns,

You'll discover, just like I will,

That it's nothing but a fire burning the stubble in the fields,

And the sun at dusk.

And a light wind blows through the green hair of the weeping willows.

Do you also hear the whispering, that voice barely louder than the water of the river?

I'd love to listen to it, and not just ask the question, "What will become of the two of us?"

Because deep down I know I ought to be afraid of the answer.

Nearby calls, barking, and suddenly a shot rings out -

My knee hurts, red drops fall in the river...

No, no drops of blood are being spilled, a cramp is spreading in my leg.

What is spreading in the sand on the shore is,

Clumsily spilled by me,

What remains of our wine.

And a light wind blows through the green hair of the weeping willows.

Do you also hear the whispering, that voice barely louder than the water of the river?

I'd love to listen to it, and not just ask the question, "What will become of the two of us?"

Because deep down I know I ought to be afraid of the answer.

Do you know the song about the wise man who had sat on the shore,

Who after many years almost forgot the names of his enemies,

And in the end saw them dead, their lifeless bodies carried along by the current?

No, we are not wise men,

Our enemies -- let's lower our voices for the moment! --

Are certainly alive, and they are quite close by!

And a light wind blows through the green hair of the weeping willows.

Do you also hear the whispering, that voice barely louder than the water of the river?

I'd love to listen to it, and not just ask the question, "What will become of the two of us?"

Because deep down I know I ought to be afraid of the answer.