Suntrow Street

There should be by now the end of the night,
But somehow lasts without me.
And only the traffic gets loud and lights
Are dim at the Suntrow Street.

There should be by now the end of the world.
But lingers until we can meet.
And only your house waits, silent and cold,
For me, at the Suntrow Street.

It should be, they say, - oh, which word did they use -
Impossible - I haven't learned.
No way that I found you only to lose -
Of whom I'm so suddenly fond.