At the Bratislava train station

At the Bratislava train station, ; Three steamers are coming down a track. ; The first one, alas, has a smokestack, ; That will take me to the Slovak border. ; ; My baby's arms, her arms, ; They don't want to bend, bend. ; She has to bend, write a letter, ; If she wants to hug, kiss me. ; ; My baby's pink skirt, ; The dew has settled on the bottom. ; Come, my rose, take the dew off it, ; The heavy sorrow from my sad heart.