Violins are playing
For me like mad.
A piano joins the choir
Once in a while.
Just as expected
Year after year.
Notes we're culling
In our ear
As they come from some place
Near.
We're not around the house
Mother looks again for us, in vain,
Dinner's ready to proclaim.
We have turkey,
Chicken, nice and crispy,
And the mamaliga , over there,
Gives off steam as everywhere.
He will fill again his jar
With his cold wine he keeps
In large barrels in the cellar.
Violins are playing like mad
For all who want them to be playing
And pianos are still playing loud
But there's no one there
To cull notes
Into their ear
Even though they come
From somewhere near.
No one looks for us in vain
Dinner's ready to proclaim
Is there anyone, dear Dad,
To fill up the jar,
As you used to,
In your cellar?
