Grimasch om morgonen [English translation]

Now dew falls and the sun is rising but you can't hear it.

You lay there without a blouse or a skirt with your lips to my ear.

Tell me the truth, you ask firmly.

You laugh at songs and sing me jokes.

You could but don't want to write a song about the frail joy.

Now the sun rises and the dew falls for the poor and the rich.

But happiness has a venomous prick you should probably avoid.

She would love to stay a couple of days

but when you want to hold her there

[but if you ask her to stay]

her eyes turn cold and you become bitter as bile.

So the dew falls without sound and the grass and the leaves become wet.

And every morning the sun stands bridally but no bridal hymns are to be heard.

Ann-Katarin, you should know that

there is a joy which dies of laughter.

But it wants to be caressed at night and is still as water.

Get up from the bed Ann-Katarin and listen to something important:

There is a special kind of fine wine which should be enjoyed carefully.

Because if you drink it without care

it loses its past flare

and you're left with an empty bottle and bitter tears and ash.