Lyrics of Neshani Dovom Khosro Shakibaei In English

Now its too late
I have forgotten the names of many alleys
I have forgotten many homes
and the easy names of the closest sea
right is it because it is not easy to come to the destination

No Rira
For many years where the railway station, all the roads, the roads and the roads. I came to
I would get to the one who smelled the north and the Survival
how much I wet the morning streets and survived in the sunset
I knew you were the most bright dreams of the day
I have the most simple songs
I still
I saw
I saw people coming slowly in the shadow of crying and chamomile scent of the butterfly garden to their childrens sleep

People understand
Suture people and patient people understand
Longer people who have come from my simple risks
From the letters, I have learned to cry from the time of crying
Where are you going now
Come
Still, to discover that alley, our very little time, and the sky is rainy
assuming that people are still asleep
Suppose that no letter came to our destination

What do you do with the dreams

here
close to the same desire
as if the kite is forgotten to the belief thorns
Eye of the school of elementary schools
Hey Sunset Restless Sunset
but a little further away from the wind


You are more clear than the rain
thinner than the breeze
my restless heart
Rira
Go to that color bench
Chamomile bush wings
next Thursdays station
there
close to the same desire
If you were coming
The same
The Alley was not the sea
So what do I do here
What do I want from these broken lights
None of these sad windows here. Hafez and
A strange fragrance of your smell was not with me

I came to the smell of the sea
The smell of the sea was
and no neighbor did not know you
all the tiles
all the words
pigeons and pigeons
Hidden
The alley came from the top of the alley
not the acceleration ahead and
Nabili in the hands of
just as if he said something under the lips
Silent and tired
Patient and unanswered by the inappropriate beside
Oh if they die this moment
how much pigeons will be left out of the roof
The muddy river cries
from this range to the range that you see no bridge from the butterfly