There was a young and handsome man

Lived by the Berlin wall,

And on a cool and starry night

He heard a maiden call.

With her sweet and melodic voice,

It made his head spin ’round,

Soon he fell into a deep sleep.

It stopped without a sound.

This voice only came out at night,

To put this man to sleep.

When he looked he could not find her;

She left without a peep.

Then one cold and blustery night,

The voice didn’t come at all.

The man could not fall asleep.

The maiden did not call.

He was so sad, that’s not a like,

And thought he would be dead

Without that magnificent voice

Playing in his head.

The next day came ever so quick,

And he wondered through the day,

If she would come back tonight

And what she would say.

When evening came he listened –

Waiting long for the voice.

But once again it did not come,

And he could not rejoice.

For a week the voice did not come.

“Tonight,” he would say,

“Tonight the voice will come back.”

But it was not that way.

“She probably moved,” he would think

Silently to himself,

Or “She might be on holidays

If she is one of wealth.”

One day he heard a person say

That a maiden had died.

He knew that this was the real truth,

And the handsome man cried.

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