One more candle today
It makes eigthy now
They came for your birthday
In the little grey town, in the narrow street
Where your house stands

There you live alone
Since he has gone
You ask your children
 [bad word] more often
"Why not on Sunday?"
"Maybe" they say

Memories seem to be dreams
When you're in the old age

The cat sleeps on the pillow
At least, he won't leave you
The clock strikes
As to remind you
That someday you will go
And meet again your aunt fellows

Memories seem to be dreams
When you're in the old age

You remember the holidays
You used to spend by the sea
And teh salty wind
On your face
Which was young and pretty

Memories seem to be dreams
When you're in the old age

Now, all you've got left
Are photographs and your eyes to cry
Your eyes to cry
Your eyes to cry