Good night. This house my own, with damp windows to the sea, the shell I'd always longed for, its definite silence, and all this time to be a hermit of delicate
private luxuries. White time for perfection and imperfection

Night flows in through the roof, full of dogs barking.
Distant noises ring in the darkness,
The light of my candle dies softly.

The cool air of the night
Compressed the tired light
Of the yellowish bulb,
Stars up in the sky sigh a frosty sigh.

My house stands in the plain lands
On rocky ground, here by the sea.
My little house stands near the Atlantic ocean
That in its cold emptiness
Breaks thundering on rocks.

And the night
Surrounds us strange and black
Like the far side of the moon.
Far from Marrakech in freezing emptiness
I'm lying here and listening into the night.

The radio speaks so Arabic in Marrakesh.
There's a camel in the desert
And it's walking to the beat,
There's an Arab on the camel
And he's walking to the beat too, yeah.
The radio speaks so Arabic:
‘White Time’