I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t knit my bag out of rope.
Do you remember how I loved that:
Knitting, twisting… and I didn’t mope.

I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t paint that indistinct canvas,
Which smells of magic autumn flavour,
With oil strokes, all wet with tears.

I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t walk down Monmartre at all.
I didn’t visit that cafe in Paris,
Where they served clafouti after all.

I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t kiss you ample for me.
I didn’t inhale you enough, my truelove.
Oh, if I only could foresee.

I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t find in heart to tell you.
Do you recall that night when the star fell?
I made a wish that I’d never get lost you.