I watch the playing grace of moonlight,
She dances like a child.
Her veil is undone, I can see her face,
She is looking at me now.
But then, from my opera glass she disappears
And I have other places to go.
I go where the wild flowers grow
She hands me a piece of bread.
Her eyes are longing, her body trembling,
Floating on a stream.
And then, just like the wind, she whispers 
“Farewell, my friend”
And I have other places to go.
The snow falls where I sing my songs
She opens herself to me.
Her breast infer, her lips are blue,
I can see she is very cold.
But standing at the lake, she sails her way back home
And I have other places to go.
A thousand books against the walls,
She asks me about my name.
My answer is quick as I drink my wine
And she kisses me on the cheek.
And then, like the rain running down her skin
I have other places to go.