I will never hear you in the morning, nonI will never hear your voice againnYou will never say that you love the little cakesnThat I bake so early in the morning, nonI will never hear it againnnShe'll never hear him in the evening, no,nShe will never hear his voice againnHe will never say “It's my favorite time of day,”nWhen the sun is setting in the evening, no,nShe will never hear it againnnBut I know I'll hear you when it's late at nightnAnd you're sleeping in your room againnYou will dream of the faraway wickedness of warnAnd I'll hear you sobbing after midnight, no,nYou will not say “mother” againnnNo, you won't say “mother” again