Hamburg

In Hamburg

In Hamburg the night
is not like in other cities
a tender blue woman,
in Hamburg she is dun
and watches the rained-on pretties
to see they’re all right.

In Hamburg the night lives
in all the harbour bars,
wears loose her skirts and virtues,
spits, sneaks and procures,
when on benches, on arse,
people laugh, love and give.

In Hamburg the night can’t hum
the sweet, sweet melodies
with which the nightingale’s born,
she knows the song of the ship’s horn
from the port provokes rhapsodies
in us, goes down as well as any rum.