Hvo skal jeg troe?
Hvo skal jeg troe?
Øinene to?
Lyve ei disse?
Lokkende kjæk
Er om Munden et Træk,
Det mig daarer tilvisse!
Men de Øine,
Disse Løgne,
Dette kjække Smiil om Munden,
Det er Satan dog i Grunden,
Han mig har i hendes Hænder,
Og jeg brænder!
Hvor er mit Pas! Hvor er min Musa!
Forsvar mig
Mod Spaniens Medusa!
Inqvisitionen har mig.
Whose can they be?
Whose can they be,
Those eyes I see?
Are they not lying?
Tempting with guile
Those lips’ seem that smile –
My crazed heart starts sighing!
But those eyes
And those lies
Lips that cause me so to revel,
They are both indeed the Devil,
In her hands he has me yearning
And I’m burning!
My passport, muse, I search in vain!
Defend me
’Gainst the Medusa of Spain!
The Inquisition holds me.
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