In the winter
The driver* has sorrow in the bag under the seat
I'm a little too late and rash / hasty
In the winter

In the cabin
You can sit on cushions of stiff brocade
Or curl up on the tiny floor
In the winter

The darkness falls upon windows and lips
The animals out there are gasping for breath
There is one I search
In the winter

And maybe I have given up
Even before I set out
But maybe I was kind of driven
By too many sleepless nights
By the crazy restlessness that never quite disappears
In the winter

All quiet
Trying to keep the night away
Even though it's too late
I so much wanted you to be proud of me
In the winter