En fiskerby (a fishermen’s village) fades into the fog
The hills undulate, the rain echoes on the wild grass
Et børneværelse (a child’s room) awaits my return
A couple stands on the stoop, the house is nymalet (recently repainted)
Næste måned (next month) I will come back to kiss my parents

En fiskerby (a fishermen’s village) fades into the fog
I ride my cykel (bicycle) in en sidegade (a perpendicular street)
Far from the lilla og orange (violets and oranges) of my village
My mother with her hand under her chin waits perhaps at et vindue (a window) of the house
I will come back næste måned (next month) if the future allows me

En fiskerby (a fishermen’s village) fades into the mist
Memories are a dyr (expensive) commodity; in a himmelsk (sublime) summer
I had hung en skjorte (a shirt) torn to a clothesline
My sister had stolen en snaps (brandy) from our old neighbor
A hemmelighed (secret) remained buried in the sky of my village

En fiskerby (a fishermen’s village) fades in the fog
I’ll come back næste måned (next month) if the future allows me
The hills will tremble under the wheels of my car
The flowers of memory are cut. En skærm (a screen) of smoke will sting my eyes when I arrive
My parents wait for me in the cemetery, I have an appointment with the past