Not all days are a Sunday
Not on all days there is wine
But you shall on all days
Be fairly kind to me
And once I'm dead
You shall think about me
At the evening as well, as you fall asleep
But you shall not cry
At the evening as well, as you fall asleep
But you shall not cry
And when it get's dark
Gray hair, gray sense
Let light, let light
How happy I'd be
And once I'm dead
You shall think about me
At the evening as well, as you fall asleep
But you shall not cry
At the evening as well, as you fall asleep
But you shall not cry