I met a singer who sang since he was a boy.
He sang our pain,
recited with love,
like a divine breath.
Sing, sing, singer.
Sing all your songs.
Sing,
sing, singer.
Sing all your songs.
Sing all your songs.
Play,
life, singer.
Your northeastern guitar.
It's so good to be a dreamer.
Dream beautiful like a flower.
In the girl's hair.
How many children without love.
How much pain in every corner.
How many lives in clamor.
How many faces of fear.
Of the boy and the girl.
Dancer.
Eee,
Aa,
