My Hometown’s WindThe wind can strike and lash you like a whip
if you don’t huddle tight inside your coat.
He shoves you to and fro along with rocks,
he presses, rips right through you, knocks you down.
It’s the raw wind that sweeps across my town.
It’s the dry wind that sweeps across my town.
It’s the wind, the wind, the wind,
accursed wind of my hometown.
This wind can eat you up alive,
your drivel turn to ice under your teeth,
you brace your knees to grope along the street:
the world is out of joint, you can’t believe it.
It’s the raw wind that sweeps across my town.
It’s the dry wind that sweeps across my town.
It’s the wind, the wind, the wind,
accursed wind of my hometown.
A wind like this you never will forget:
He made of you a man who can bear mountains,
stealing your seeds, your ears of corn, your wheat,
ramming against you and strapping you down.
It’s the raw wind that sweeps across my town.
It’s the dry wind that sweeps across my town.