Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Wagons lyrics

With quiet signs from afar At dusk the mournful wagons come The doors stand ajar, But nobody is waiting to welcome. The town is peaceful, bells of silence pealing Every beaten gra**blade kneeling Beneath the blazing cool. A few sickly Jews crawl down from each wagonbed And a word of wisdom totters In every brooding head. God on Thy scale of good and evil Set a plate of some warm porridge Or maybe spare A fistful of oats, at least, for the skinny horses. The village deadness darkens in the air. A greusome quiet seizes Jewish beards As each sees in the other's eyes how prayer Shudders with a special fear. When d**h does come, Let me not remain alive alone.