Oh, you, created sorrow of mine,
Why do you consider me a prince of your heart?
My desire is fleeting.
My voice sneaks in the lamb a wolf.
There are no remorse and bleating
Why do you give the hungry dove the grains of your spirit like minced meat
Oh, so sweet
So what if my mother dreamed of messenger Muhammad
I'll drink your blood on hot rods until you turn your back.
Because I have other stars, dear of mine
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