Sin is a flaw of the soul within us,
The head resonates whilst sin accumulates
And needs washing.
The hurt is measured beyond belief,
Just as we also hear belief in its accident.
One sin relieves oneself, all too far away
The evil staggers with straight reliance on stupidity.
Sin needs no blessing, nor any sort of delight
For the force of a river is upon us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem