Why are you weeping so bitterly?
Tell me! What could it be?
Your father’s ill? Your mother’s ill?
Your brother’s out to sea?

“Oh, no! My dad’s not ill in bed,
And Mum spins flax and is sound.
But he might as well be gone and dead
And lying in the ground.

Yes, he might as well be cold and still
And in the ground so deep.
The sea is wild, the wind is shrill—
And I must weep and weep.”

The sea may be all waves and foam
And may be wild and fierce,
Yet many a sailor has come back home
That had been forgotten for years.

So now stop weeping so bitterly,
And dry your face, my dear!
A young lad and a brand-new plank?
They won’t just disappear!

“If he were lying under the sea
He’d be in a better place,
Would hear of no fear and misery,
Of shame, sin and disgrace.—

Some soldiers came, dressed up all smart.
Were they a sight to see!
The soldiers left. He stole my heart,
And I wept bitterly.

I’ll weep and weep until I’m blind.
I’m hurt, will always grieve!
He was so young! He was so kind!
He’d lie, and I’d believe.

He was so young and trim and swore
Shortly he’d be around.
And now I’ve heard for weeks or more
How leaves fall to the ground.

What if he’ll never be around?
I’d leave. But to what place?
Like dead leaves I’d fall to the ground
For shame, sin and disgrace.”