In spring, the poplars enchant
the city with fluff, our clothes
are decorated, we are halfway
through Lent, it's a party

The winter witch moves through the streets
to her high chair
at the stake, everyone laughs
the brass band starts, and we
dance in the smelly smoke
that blows in all directions
it will be a year as always
good and bad, we celebrate it

In the summer we beat the flies
off our faces, everything stays
as it is, the thick tree
gets a little thicker again

Uncle climbs in, he shouts
to the sky and over the land
I want a wife, I want a wife
He throws stones at the men
on the ladder, the nurses come
I remember it all well
I'm now an old witch myself
with fluff snow in my hair