Perhaps we could, my dearest, visit for a day in Redwood City ?
Perhaps there in the golden twilight persists the same September tranquility...
In this white house, in this room where strangers’ furniture was placed,
We have to finish our old talk, sadly unfinished.
Perhaps we could, my dearest, visit for a day in Redwood City ?
Perhaps there in the golden twilight persists the same September tranquility...
Only from my bright eyes a salty drop is my lips meeting,
And you don’t answer me at all just carry on your green grapes eating.
This white house, this dead room, it wonders till this day, not understanding fully...
People put strangers’ furniture and walked out of here wistfully.
Nevertheless everything stayed there, even the same September tranquility,
Perhaps we could, my dearest, visit for a day in Redwood City ?
I still sing to you with my eyes: du holde Kunst...- and the heart is breaking,
And I have to go...so you say good bye, but your hand in mine isn’t shaking.
And I went away, left, like a dream the talk was cut short,
I blessed, cursed: du holde Kunst! So just like that ? Not even a word ?
Perhaps we could, my dearest, visit for a day in Redwood City ?
Perhaps there in the golden twilight persists the same September tranquility...
Only from my bright eyes a salty drop is my lips meeting,
And you don’t answer me at all just carry on your green grapes eating...