The imagination of all my crying.,
my man is mysterious.,
don't let go of my hand
and don't say a word to me.
Touch your eyes,
what will stir up the wave of desire,
let this magic without words
flowing to the silver dawn...
You do not touch the words of the night,
let quietly basking in the constellations,
to the unity of our contradictions
blossomed again in her arms...
Dawn outside shivers,
like a vein in your wrist.,
and blooms every moment
a premonition of simple happiness.