same as the moth, to the lamp flying,
I go to you, through, by my passion.
because it now, that a future spring.
and she is nice and she loves to sing.
the time...not, it not such a fashion.
I want to deserve, on my love death.
and I am telling you, please, fire.
for me my darling, form me fire.
if you want, and you have desire.
you about love, can now with me sing.