The Hearts burnt out
with dying falls and cold, bone chilling winters.
(Love is gone for the fall and winter)
Just me, I stay alone
who walks the slushed streets and I sleep in the dirt grimmed gutters.
The hearts burnt out, but still a hint of love lingers
in the cold evenings of the winter falls.
The cold December nights are always the loneliest time
for a man to live alone in the dirty gutters of the ghettos.
And as the loyalists come marching down the cobblestone streets,
every heart with turn and fear.
The ones that do not go far, shall parish in eternal hell.
For the hearts are burnt out,
like the lamplights on the night of Kristallnacht.
The Jews of Malta, create fornication
and the hearts of the prostitutes hide with bruses and broken blood vessels,
on their faces and hands,
and they will hurry away to the dark shadows of lone alleyways
with hearts skipping beats, and hearts slowly burning out.