How many songs have I yet to write?
Tell me, songbird, sing them to me.
The city or the village, where am I to live? To lie as a stone,
Or burn like a star, a star?
Sunlight of mine, shine now on me.
See that my palm has turned into a fist.
And if you have powder, give me a spark.
Like this.
Who will now follow the lonely path? The strong and the brave,
Have laid down their lives in battle, in the fields.
Few now remain who still remember, few with a clear mind,
And a firm hand, left in the ranks. In the ranks.
Sunlight of mine, shine now on me.
See that my palm has turned into a fist.
And if you have gunpowder, give me a spark.
Like this.
Where are you now, free will? Who joins you to
Greet the tender sunrise? Answer me.
Life is good with you, and bad without you. My head
And shoulders submissive under the whip. Under the whip.
Sunlight of mine, shine now on me.
See that my palm has turned into a fist.
And if you have gunpowder, give me a spark.
Like this.