As if it were the end of the century
girls wearing white dresses
waiting for the air kisses to fly away
and land on the lips of the young men
Marie, Milada, Helena, Greta
every one of them shielding their eyes from the light
the young men are smoking cheap cigarettes
just like those who left last year already
And where are they now, where are they, where are they
the lovers, wives and mothers standing along the railway
they will carry the can, carry the can, carry the can
whether they do or don't come back to them
The crying is drowned out by the military music bands
the pictures hidden away at the bottom of the backpacks
who would think about quite possibly kicking the bucket
we are the heroes, we are the recruits
Who would think about the bullets
already somewhere moulded for our heads
now, when the marching music is playing
a white flower behind the ear
And where are they now, where are they, where are they
the trains are taking away the lovers, husbands and sons
they will carry the can, carry the can, carry the can
and If they come back at all, they will never be the same
Marie, Milada, Helena, Greta
pale as if their hearts were stabbed
oh if only i can see my beloved again
they are silently praying
A lock of hair for a keepsake
tied together with a rainbow-coloured ribbon
I can hear a mother whispering
oh if only at least every other could come back home
And where are they now, where are they, where are they
the trains are taking away the lovers, husbands and sons
they will carry the can, carry the can, carry the can
and If they come back at all, they will never be the same
...
they will carry the can, carry the can, carry the can
and If they come back at all, they will never be the same