1. The hills torment me
As the cup frolics in my hand,

2. And war has not struck at us
With the nose of a dripping flask,

3. And the heads of my enemies lie fallen
Who were not hit by a sharp sword,

4. And time passes inexorably
Without a stab from my keen blade,

5. Its days disquiet us
As though we were in a crucible,

6. I hope for tomorrow and I say maybe
There is no tomorrow - who do I have for tomorrow?