THOSE WERE THE DAYS (REVISITED) - Alphaville (Impressão)

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There is a landscape in my head

I sometimes travel

But this is strictly after dark

Beyond the barricades and trenches

There stands the factory

Hand me the costum of the sad acrobat

And he says

Son, this is the bread I break for you

But do not touch it

And he says

Son, this is the wine I pour for you

But do not drink it

Dein aschenes haar, sulamith

And he says

Son, this is the bread I break for you

Son, this is the wine I pour for you

But do not drink it, don't drink at all

There is a stranger on the shore

I sometimes travel

But this is strictly in my dreams

He feeds the seagulls in the winds with ashes

And as he speaks he's got my father's voice

And he says

Son, here is some bread I broke for you

Son, here is some wine

Those were the days, my friend

Dein aschenes haar, sulamith

Der tod ist ein meister aus deutschland