Paroles et traduction Allan Olsen - Jens Vejmand

Jens Vejmand

Hvem sider der bag skærmen
Med klude om sin hånd
Og om sin sko et bånd
Det er såmænd Jens Vejmand
Der er sin sure nød
Med hamren må forvandle de hårde sten til brød

Og vågner du en morgen
Og høre hamren klinge
Påny, påny, påny
Det er såmænd jens vejmand
På sine gamle ben
Der hugger vilde gnister
Af de morgen våde sten

Og ager du til staden
Bag bondens fede spand
Og møder du en olding
Hvis øje står i vand
Det er såmænd jens vejmand
Med haml om ben og knæ
Der næppe ved at finde
Mod frosten mer et læ

Og vender du tilbage
I byger og i blæst
Mens aftens stjernen skælver
I kulde i sydvest
Og klinger hamre slaget
Bag vognen ganske nær
Det er såmænd jens vejmand
Som endnu sidder der

Så jævned han for andre
Den vanskelige vej
Men da det led mod julen
Da sagde armen nej
Det var såmænd jens vejmand
Han tabte hamren bræt
De bar ham over heden
En kold decembernat

Der står på kirkegården
Et gammelt frønnet bræt
Der hælder slemt til siden
Og malingen er slet
Det er såmænd jens vejmand
Hans liv var fuld af sten
Men på hans grav i døden
Man gav ham aldrig en

Jens Vejmand

Who sits there behind the screen
With cloths around his hand
And a ribbon around his shoe
It's Jens Vejmand
Who's in his sour misery
With his hammer he must transform the hard stones into bread

And you wake up one morning
And hear the hammer ringing
Again, again, again
It's Jens Vejmand
On his old legs
That chop wild sparks
From the morning wet stones

And you drive to the city
Behind the farmer's fat team
And you meet an old man
Whose eyes are watery
It's Jens Vejmand
With ham around his legs and knees
Who can hardly find
A shelter from the frost

And you return
In showers and in wind
While the evening star trembles
In cold in the southwest
And the hammer blow rings
Behind the wagon quite close
It's Jens Vejmand
Who still sits there

So he leveled the rough way
For others
But when Christmas Eve drew near
His arm said no
It was Jens Vejmand
He dropped his hammer abruptly
They carried him over the heath
On a cold December night

There stands in the churchyard
An old shabby board
That leans badly to the side
And the paint is bad
It's Jens Vejmand
His life was full of stones
But on his grave in death
He was never given one