In this dead-end They smell your mouth To find out if you have told someone: I love you! They smell your heart! Such a strange time it is, my dear; And they punish Love At thoroughfares By flogging. We must hide our Love in dark closets. In this crooked dead end of a bitter cold They keep their fire alive By burning our songs and poems; Do not place your life in peril by your thoughts! Such a strange time it is, my dear! He who knocks on your door in the middle of the night, His mission is to break your Lamp! We must hide our Lights in dark closets! Behold! butchers are on guard at thoroughfares With their bloodstained cleavers and chopping-boards; Such a strange time it is, my dear! They cut off the smiles from lips, and the songs from throats! We must hide our Emotions in dark closets! They barbecue canaries On a fire of jasmines and lilacs! Such a strange time it is, my dear! Intoxicated by victory, Satan is enjoying a feast at our mourning table! We must hide our God in dark closets!