Red-red-red-wine on my lips and,
I am about to say something;
But the sweet of the meat is in the eater.
Does not the rain has a father?
Does not the rain has a mother?
For my ears have heard of you but now,
My own eyes have seen you too.
Twice as much,
As beautiful as the daughters of Iyyob;
For the stone which the builders rejected had become the head.
Today, i am the stone and you are my lover;
For i am the headstone of the corner.
Come and work in my vineyard,
And come and quench my heart with love;
Like a roasted turkey and cranbery source from Turkey.
Today you are mine and,
Like a roasted guinea-fowl from Guinea!
Come and make love tom me my sweet one.