where train tunnels are not always engulfed in darkness,
where time rambles on tracks and meadows stay forever green
only sometimes they become coated with yellowed snow
to rejoice the coming of a European winter.
Such a place I know of
where you could freely run away from any catch twenty-two,
where you could still be quite attached to the forty-four
even when the blues you sing are those happy ones.
As you hum along you find, not gold, but the blue-eyed man –
the one who clicks, who claps, who strums his guitar
the one who sings to you in any longest Bavarian night.