There’s just a flower in that room
and you move patiently around;
the medicine is bitter but
you know it yet, he will drink it.
If he doesn’t give up you tempt him
and untie the knot of your hips
that are yet uncovered by your dress;
he who picks up the flower will get crazy.
He will do anything for you
and you sister and mother and wife
and you queen or fairy, you
cannot ask for more.
And perhaps it is for revenge
and perhaps it is for fear
or just for crazyness
but you’ve always been
the one who pays the most
if you want to fly they pull you down
and if the witch hunt begins
you are the witch.
And you pursue childish dreams
and you ask for love and you’re sincere
you perform no witchcrafts, nor tricks, but
nobody is going to believe it by now.
Someone shouts at you that you’re beautiful
you’re a fairy, you’re a star
then he enslaves you, but, oh no,
we cannot call it love.
Someone exalts you, someone flatters you
someone also exhibits you in his shop window
they say love, but, oh no,
we cannot call it love.