| Utanfare blser vinden bort de gula lven, | Outside, the wind sweeps yellow leaves from sight, |
| Medans jag ligger p min smutsiga madrass | While I sprawl on my sullied mattress’ face, |
| I ett vergivet och fallfrdigt hus, | Inside a house forsaken, poised for blight, |
| Dare fnstrena are krossade, och jag fryser s Om de kalla ntterna, nare jag inget tcke har | Where shattered panes admit the wolfish night, and I lie shivering through each arctic space— |
| Fare att slcka trsten vnder jag mig | To drown my thirst, I turn in mute despair |
| Till de ljusbruna plarna I asfalten, | Toward tawny paving stones the street reveals, |
| Och min mage are tom sedan flera dagar tillbaka | My stomach hollow, echoing the air—days since I’ve known the solace of a meal. |
| Jag are den frusne vlnaden I trasiga, (f)rostiga klder, | I am the frozen wraith in garments torn and rimed, |
| Som vandrar obemrkt likt en skugga | Who drifts unnoticed, kin to shadow’s trace, |
| Genom den isbl stmningen | Threading the city’s icy blue-limned clime, |
| I staden utan ljus | In a metropolis stripped of every grace—no light, no flame— |
| Skjut mig I underarmen med heroin, | Drive heroin into my arm’s cold seam, |
| Eller stt en kula I mitt huvud, | Or lodge a bullet deep within my mind, |
| Och ge mig en snabb flykt hrifrn | And grant me flight—abrupt as waking from a dream. |