Tap! Tap!
Here I squat upon the granite
All the livelong day.
And when the stone cracks, I flinch in sympathy
With every stroke of the hammer.
The dust, it flies into my breast
And slowly gnaws it away.
  I tap, I tap,
I tap myself into the grave.
      Tap! Tap!
What sort of people all walk past!
A little chap stands and listens,
Nods to me that I am so diligent,
Listens to how the Moselle River rushes.
In vain I tug my beard,
Whoever gave him so much time [to waste],
  And tap and tap,
I tap myself into the grave.
       Tap! Tap!
I love a seamstress
Down there in the city.
She gives herself to me so fervently,
Is also so blonde and pale.
I shall make her my wife,
I, too, wish to have a home and property!
  And tap and tap,
And tap us into the grave.