The Old Man

There is an old man lonely

on the bench every day

The dogs only growl low and

seldom anybody turns around to him

His glances are empty and unconcerned

His old jacket is patched

His wife is not here anymore

He didn’t understand anything

He only said: “It isn’t true”

The rain pelts on his face

The old man doesn’t move

Many people are passing by

He thinks: “It’s better to die”

A little girl comes running

Sits down beside the old man and laughs

Her mother angrily pulls her away

The old man doesn’t say any word

He thinks: “It isn’t true”

Die, die, die – it’s better to die, lonely

Die, die, die – it’s better to die, lonely

Next day he is no longer

Sitting on the old bench

His seat was left empty

Nobody minds at all

Die, die, die – it’s better to die, lonely

Die, die, die – it’s better to die, lonely

Die, die, die – it’s better to die, lonely

Die, die, die – it’s better to die, lonely