The old woman is looking at the sand as she gathers brushwood
I am looking at the horizon from my hotel window
You, who have lived through hunger,
please go ahead and torture me

I have always lived with my belly full
Even now I am belching
The least I can wish is to deserve your hatred

Old woman, what could my words do for you?
I do not wish to atone for anything any more
What strangles me is what you have in your hand
the horizon you will not look at

I hear Clementi’s sonatina faintly
No one speaks to me
What deep comfort