I can see Martina as a child of three
   In the sad seclusion of her nursery
   Go outside, Martina! Go outside and play
   Never speak, Martina, put your toys away
   So her days were loveless
   And her nights the same
   When she cried for someone
   No one ever came...
   Is it any wonder that her eyes grew cold?
   That she loved nobody and her young heart grew old
   All the children crying from the age of three
   Grow to be Martina’s and me...