Me, the lover of the earth, in an eternal struggle
most probably having a throat cut in my breath
the water get stuck on my craw is now two baby drops
while picking up a scantly livelyhood
I'm questioning what is death in a nonsense mood
If it's objective to say 'such is the best'
I am begging for a piece of subjective point of view
when a hearth is broken no escape remains in it for the imprisoned loser
and inside the imprisoned, there is always one another
at the end just a tiny body is left over
'each man is a matrushka' is the sentence of each lover
since you call my name the bog game
and make me open my sunday cards
here! one is jack and the other is king
And my dear princess
by sulking from far far away just give me an ace
(BilgenDilbaz'ın ölümsüz çevirisinden:)
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