You may love anything in another woman,
The windmills sleeping in her eyes,
The tragic winds sneaking under her soles.
You may love the yellowish feline she hides in her breath,
Her lunatic arms, her dangerous kiss.

You may love anything in another woman ,
But not her heart, my sweet man,
It is my heart
That was fated to be loved by you.

When the Sun leaves, those butterflies on my fingertips leave, either.
My soul is lonely.

Call me by name, and my heart will sing for you, my dearest,
As a silver flute,
Full of love.