Nin non

Nin non, Maria,
my little girl with golden hair.
Nin non..., tiny
song from my cradle.

And while you dream
life takes me by the hand,
but when the bell rings,
I'll come to your side.

And if ever the cold
of a winter morning
caresses the sheets,
I'll seek in the east
the brightest sun
to warm your body.

The big linden tree
will keep leaves
for birds to sleep in.
If a game wakes you,
we'll fill with stars
your vast ceiling.

Nin non..., Maria,
my little girl with golden hair,
who, when the bell rings,
I'll come to your cradle.

From the whirlwinds,
I must hang stars for you
to enchant the gods,
and thus freeze
an expert demon
who offers you hells.

For often the sky
leans towards cold
for your childish dreams.
And we must warm
the eager mind
with rusty cauldrons.

Goodbye..., Maria,
life takes me by the hand,
but when the bell rings,
I'll come to your side.