O Singer of Sorrow, in our hearts, there is a song in our heads and in our noses, you are a legend,
like your good imagination from the unseen, I have risen from the fire of love, to the heavens of the tongues of
Venus, love, when its claw beats in the water, and the flower of our stature has become like a claw, our chest is like a clutch of a
lame deer, like an effort from the bottom of a lion, a snort like a
snowflake, like a spear from the palm of a lion, like a sword, like a sword, The flower and the spring of his soul and the hangover of the kings soul and his only one who ate you, the units of
your grace and mercy beat the drum of reunion, if you do not reunite, you will be an excuse again.
