Do sunless times make you thoughtful?
Is there more to brood about with snow in your blond hair?
Is every kind of thought, every kind of pleasure lawful?
Is it true that you all really care?
And when I try to ask you why, why can't everything be as it is in your country?
Little joy, my Swedish boy, it seems to me...
you live in a made-up country.
It's something you'd make up when you were sleeping.
It's something you'd make up when you were high.
It's something the gods would make while they're dreaming
It's something you'd make up when you were five.
And when I try to ask you why, why cant' everything be as it is in your country?
Little joy, my Swedish boy,
It seems to me, you live in a made-up country.
Little joy, little joy
Swedish boy