In my home city, on a bench
I often see this gentleman, this lonely loving man
With coat and hat
and crutches

He stares at people, stares at me
His hands he folds upon his weak old knees
He whistles something
A saddly melody

His meldoy is sweet and bitter,
About his life and all the days and years  that past
About his childhood, hunger
And the War

He whistles tired  silent notes
His love and struggles, his success and most
About his grandchildren, children
And his dog

His melody seems not to end
He sings about his bakery, his favorite place to be
About the cakes and  pastries
And the bread

He turns to me and says
You know the secret of good bread, good dough
I ll tell you it sit down a bit to me
My child

Befor you even start to bake
Choose carefully the yeast, as it defines the bread
Choose carefully your friends
My child

The yeast you take, my son
You have to store it properly, so it will not turn dry
Keep care of all your friends
My son

Now when it comes to salt
You need...