At home I still have a postcard
Which has a church, a cart with a horse
a butcher called J. van der Ven
A pub, a lady on a bicycle
It probably doesn't tell you anything
But it's where I was born.
This village, I still remember how it was
The farmers' children in the class
A cart rattling on the cobblestones
The town hall with a pump in front
A sandy road through the corn
The cattle, the farms.
Chorus
And along the garden path of my father
I saw the tall trees standing
I was a child and didn't know better
Than that it would never end
They lived so simple back then
In simple houses between green
With farmers' flowers and a hedge
But apparantly they lived incorrect
The village was modernised
Now they are on the right track
Because see, how rich life is,
They see the television quiz
And live in concrete boxes
With quite a lot of glass, you can see
How the couch is standing at Mien
And her dresser with plastic roses
Chorus
And along the garden path of my father
I saw the tall trees standing
I was a child and didn't know better
Than that it would never end
The village youth sticked together
In miniskirts and with beatle-hair
Bawling along with beat-music
I know, it's their right to do so
The new time, just like you said
But it does make me somewhat melancholic
I have known their fathers
They bought licorice for a penny
I saw their mothers rope skipping
The village from that time, it is gone
This is everything that remained for me
A postcard and memories
Then along the garden path of my father
I still saw the tall trees standing
I was a child, how could I know
That it eventually would be gone