The snow was on Herstal,
I don’t remember what I was doin’ there.
The alley Spirits was black,
And it was not even five in the afternoon.
	
It was just if I stopped
Where my mother, as a young girl, lived.
Why do I have to only think about it
In the days of bad weather.
	
You had to ring the bell,
Take the corridor, if you wanna see,
At the end, as a covered yard
Where grand-ma washed laundries.
	
After this was the kitchen
With its two Voltaire armchairs,
A calendar about the Ardens
And the radio on the old National Broadcasting.
	
Covering my armchair, something beautiful,
Sewn with pieces of wool
More colorful than the rainbow.
I buy yours if you get the same.
	
About the stove, I ‘ve forgotten everything.
Was it square, was it round?
But the dresser and what it held,
Without hagglin’, I can tell.
	
In the right drawer, the keys,
In the left one, money and glasses,
Above an angel, and nearby
Goddammit! me! with my woolen cap!
	
In Mama’s street, I came and went.
The house was already dark.
Why would anybody stop to find
That almost nothing has remained?