In the provincial town spring smells like gasoline
The tired people are sleeping sweetly
Mist is disappearing over the road on which
A local idiot has written in white paint
"Good morning, my darling!"
In big letters
"Good morning, my darling!"
Not scrimping on paint
This letters stand alone, attracting the light
You can see them from the moon and surrounding suns
The night will disappear without trace
And noone will ever know who wrote them
The nightingales will discuss it
They can see the strange marks on the road
They feel sorry that the traffic police will be sad
"Good morning, my darling, my dearest!"
You can see this beautiful inscription from your window
Maybe this happy line will last through March
This line will be for everyone like a beacon on the road
Let the traffic police be patient