Middle of the night,
Fallen an angel,
Somewhere in cold fastlane..
And she goes to someone heart,
With a yellow
burning lantern.
She started to smoke,
From the burning lantern,
As the great german leaders,
And she draws somthing,
From the cigers ashes,
With her tiny little fingers
I saw it felt lik Someone
played the grand piano
from the whispering Wind.
Although she never loves me,
She is the angel, The white angel,
Who always on my mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem