Now the long roads are closed,
and I have looked in old shoes
And I have cut a green scalmoy,
behind Piledam at Holstebro
I walk from Skagen with course towards Faxe,
and forgot the winter hunger and need
I grind the knife,
I grind the scissor,
I grind sunshine and a sweet bread
Where is my youth,
I know it's gone,
where was it beautiful,
I was free and loose
I slept in the road,
in the rift's flower carpet,
I slept at the country's best quiet
With her it was a joy to grow,
to the warmth was in her shoulder
I grind the knife,
I grind the scissor,
I grind sunshine and a sweet bread
I was a rock and she a rock,
and the bottom stank for me his law
He was so confident in his ax,
was planted support in a large farm
I grind the knife,
I grind the scissor,
I grind sunshine and a sweet bread
That time was burned like a warm oak,
time was cheap and it was rough
But Malort smelled along all roads,
and gave color to a fuzzy dream
At Sollebro and Lurifaxe,
I drank the drum from white sand
But I grind the knife,
I grind the scissor,
and plucked Malort and drank the sand