Longing, I starved you to death
And late, I buried you with sorrow
If today I no longer know your name
Your face never gave me a break
It would be a miracle not to see
In love, this perennial flower
That sprouts in the black moon
That dries up, but never dies
Truth, I surrounded you from afar
And late, I leaned on fear
If yesterday I sang your name
The echo no longer dies early
It would be a miracle not to have
Love, this brief rhyme
That the glow of the full moon
Awakens from a light sleep
Irene
Irene
Irene, Irene
Irene
Irene
Irene, Irene

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