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The primary spring of my soul's word and path
Your words bring joy deep within my soul
Even the thought of the mountains you gaze upon makes me weep
I would be free if I adorned myself with your commands one by one, my sultan.
Love is a giant head with a thousand eyes
Your conversation rouses each of them from slumber
Rest now, Zarif, you have opened too many words without measure
With this broken mind, what audacity is yoursWe have a long past
Without ever tiring
At least once
amusing cradle
be it us
be it a masquerade ball
Standing in respect on a superior night
Folding in a share of mystery
from a simple coffee
By the decree of a joyless detail
be it us not existing
be it us on a journey
What if this time we must see those who have died
What if you must turn into a bird and leave by train
Ayrıntılar için Kargo Politikası ve İade Politikası sayfalarına bakabilirsiniz.
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