My soul is grief. My soul is call
Because I am a bird picked off.
To death is doomed my wounded soul
Soul wounded by the love.
My soul is grief. My soul is call.
Tell me what are meeting and send-off.
I tell you - there are hell and woe
and in the woe there's also love.
Mirages are close, distant the streets.
Surprised she's smiling with the joy
of ignorance and youngster's greed,
of sultry flesh and airy ghost.
Mirages are close, distant the streets
when she is standing in aureoles.
She never hears who calls and grieves
she flesh and airy ghost...