In de schemering

In the twilight, quiet front yard, quiet street next to the open door
In the twilight, warm summer evening, late honeysuckle scent
And the nightingale sitting in the linden tree sings its evening song
And calls up everything she could better forget, but she can't
In the twilight, all images emerge from her memory
In the twilight, on the bench against the house

She sees her mother again, sees the sewing box and the scissors in the twilight
Sees the room again, the piano, the sideboard in the twilight
Sees the brothers and sisters all around the table at dinner
Sees her father in the garden
Smells the scent of his cigar and hears the nightingale
Before going to sleep, when she snuggled close to him in her nightgown
In the twilight, on the bench against the house

She sees the girls always giggling and stiff in the twilight
Sees the boys standing, feels the hands on her body in the twilight
Tastes the carefree summers, the satisfied desires, the infinity
Of happiness that seemed so ordinary until one day it was replaced by loneliness
With her eyes full of tears of disappointment and alcohol
In the twilight, on the bench against the house
In the twilight, on the bench against the house