You think of me
Like a dry branch
You're quiet you do not care
And never touch
Trials or insults for you
Myself to the left and you to the right
You think of me as a dry twig
Feelings of a cabbakti for you
Have breakfast ready
die or lose your feelings
What indeed moved the heart of the heart
So I got what
I still do not mind
Or you wait to fall to the ground
You think of me as a dry twig