Red, red! Her name is red,
But not the way that love is.
It´s deeper, darker, like the blood
That to the heart is fed.

Her name is red like the dying sun;
That turns away from every man
And leaves for some great, unseen land -
Too far away for even me to run, to chase,
To bring back, and to praise;
To look into those eyes and see,
A future for both her and me.
I do not think it can be done.
Her name is red like the setting sun.

Her name is red, like a gaping wound;
Like blood, dripping from the heart;
The thing that Gurney hides to start
Anew. To abandon and too soon forget
His love, his friend; to recreate and yet
It never is that easy, would you say?
It´s like forgetting, at night, the day.
You will remember the sun ´neath the moon.
Her name is red, like an open wound.

Oh! How I wish her name was red
The way that love is – like the dawn -
And yet, I am content to watch the sun set,
And know I won´t forget.