It\'s raining in my heart;
My holidays lie in ruins.
What is this dampness I feel
Seeping through my underpants?
My beloved lies dead
\'Neath the bloodied wheels of a coach;
O how short was her life;
And now she\'s squashed like a tortoise.
The poppies are waving in the wind
Bidding adieu to my hornbag mistress,
A victim of heavy holiday traffic
On the byways of summertime Picardy.
My loins feel my pain keenly:
Where on earth shall I find another
Filthy little slut like her?
O, it\'s raining in my heart!