Der Leiermann (English text)

   

       Over behind the village

        If there is a hurdy-gurdy

        And with rigid fingers

        He turns what he can.

        Barefoot on the ice

        He sways to and fro;

        And his little plate

        Always remains empty for him.

        Nobody likes to hear him

        Nobody looks at him;

        And the dogs growl

        About the old man.

        And he lets it go

        Anything as it wants

        Turns, and his lyre

        Never stand still for him.

        Whimsical age

        Should i go with you

        Want to go to my songs

         Spin your lyre?