One more candle today It makes eighty now They came for your birthday In the little grey town, in the narrow street Where your house stands There you live alone Since he has gone You ask your children To come more often "Why not on Sunday?" "Maybe" they say Memories seem to be dreams When you're in the old age The cat sleeps on the pillow At least, he won't leave you The clock strikes As to remind you That someday you will go And meet again your old fellow Memories seem to be dreams When you're in the old age You remember the holidays You used to spend by the sea And the salty wind On your face Which was young and pretty Memories seem to be dreams When you're in the old age Now, all you have left Are photographs and your eyes to cry Your eyes to cry Your eyes to cry