In the corner a cripple with a fan slaps down cards
On the waitress’s cheeks are red blotches
You get only beer and small dry sausage
In an inn whose walls gleam with yellow varnish
My shaggy dog chases through the golden park
A squirrel hides a reddish nut in the leaves
Tell me a tale oh my little wife about silver trumpets
Calling out in the oak forest
Behind a barricade of black telephones the General
Turned the world upside down with flank attacks
And during a night redder than sunsets
In a lead tower he slept under a woolen blanket.
Cagliostro – the bastard son of a Naples’ strumpet –
Drinks wine and plays cards today with marquises
Luck rolls about the table like a gold ducat
Perukes bow before the scoundrel from the vulgar classes