Penelope

Penelope, with her brown leather bag
And her high-heeled shoes and her Sunday dress
Penelope, sits on a bench on the platform
And waits for the first train to arrive, fanning herself

They say in the village that a traveler
Stopped your clock one spring afternoon
Goodbye my love, don't cry for me, I will return
Before the willow leaves fall

Think of me, I will return for you
Poor wretch, your childhood clock stopped one afternoon
In the leaden April when your lover left
It withered in his garden until the last flower
There's not a willow on the main street for Penelope

Penelope, sad that strength to wait, your eyes
Seem to shine if a train whistles in the distance
Penelope, one after another she sees them pass
She looks at their faces, hears them talk, to her they are dolls

They say in the village that the traveler returned
He found her on her green pine bench, he called her
Penelope, my faithful lover, my peace
Stop weaving dreams in your mind

Look at me, I am your love, I have returned, she smiled with eyes
Full of yesterday, her face and skin were not the same, you are not who I wait for
And she remained with her brown leather bag and her little high-heeled shoes
Sitting at the station, sitting at the station