A trace that lingers in the bed a trace that sleeps in the soul, crazed words...

I like the love of sailors
who kiss and go their own way.

They leave behind a promise.
And never come back.

In every port a woman waits;
the sailors kiss and go their own way.

One day they sleep with death
on the sea bed.

I love the love that is handed out
in kisses, bed, bread...

Love that may last for ever
or is fleeting.

Love that wants to free itself
to love some more.