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First there's the old man
Worn and debilitated, who can't remeber anything.
He, who drinks so much and has drunk so much
That he forgot himself
And lives like someone else.
He, sir, he Sir, he's mad Sir, he thinks he's a king But drinks
the same bad wine night after night, sir.
And in the morning, in the morning, they find him.
Purple Candle-white.
Stiff like a marble column
While he sleeps and snores.
And he likes to make a wide gesture
He hiccups "Thank the Lord."
You should know Sir, that these kinds of People, sir
Don't talk, sir, they don't talk, they pray.
And then, and then the other man
He's never used a comb, his hair sticks together
And he likes to gesture wildly
That's fillty like the Moths in the hand-me-down shirt.
He Sir, he, he married Liselotte,
A cutie from the city
Ah well, a different city.
And you don't know where, you don't know where,
But she, she has dealings there, (dealings there, dealings there)
And she does them, quite coquette,
Her hat slightly tilted, in a small convertible
She acts wealthy Sir, But if you're not rich Sir,
just don't buy a wallet Sir
You should understand Sir,
That these kinds of people, don't talk Sir,
They don't think, they don't do anything sir,
they pretend.
And then, then there are the others,
They mother who says nothing
At least, nothing of interest.
And then, incredibly real,
The Puritan smile of father on the wallpaper
His moustache framed and cold,
He sees and hears
His soup-guzzling troop
And that sounds something like:
And then, and then, the ancient woman,
She spends more time trembling than living,
They Sir, they, they, they wait till she collapses,
Because she has some cash
They don't listen very closely to what her hand tells them
You should understand Sir,
That these kinds of people sir, don't talk, Sir
They don't think,They don't do anything, Sir,
They count.
And then
And then
And then you have Frida,
She is such a beauty, so tender
And she loves me Sir, - that is- I love her
So much that we built eachother a house
With many windows but just a few walls, Sir
Where living is well, Sir
And if it is still doubtful Sir,
Then maybe it's just Sir
But my god (repeatedly), Sir,
The others, Sir
They don't want me to, Sir
They others say, the others say:
"Shall I tell you something, boy?
Who do you think you are boy, weakling
Just shut up, boy, she?
She? She's way beyond your league,
Way, way, way too pretty for the likes of you.
And you, man,
You are, you are nothing, nothing more or less
Nothing beyond a dirty, good-for-nothing, smelling, rotting,
Catkiller boy, CATKILLER! CATKILLER!
YOU ARE A CATKILLER!"
And me, Sir?
I never wanted a cat, Sir
Or at least, not since I've known her
Or it was already such a long time ago
That I have already forgotten, Sir.
Or it was a sick cat, Sir.
The others just ruin it, they don't want me to, the ***
They refuse it, they refuse it, they don't want me to
They don't want me to.
But sometimes, when she sees me again
By accident - on purpose
With a teary loyal gaze
She tells me she's leaving
With me, away from home
And then, for a moment, just a moment
Yes then I believe her Sir
Just for a moment I believe her Sir.
But you don't know where I'm from, Sir
You don't know where, don't know where Sir
That noone leaves these kinds of people, Sir
Noone leaves here, Sir
I have to go home now.