Lightning, your presence from ground to sky, no one knows what becomes of me, when you take me so quickly.
You think the shadow is the substance.
Oh, bird of my soul, fly away now, For I possess a hundred fortified towers.
The result of my life is no more than three words: I was raw, I became cooked, I was burnt.
I want a trouble-maker for a lover, Blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, Who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, Who burns like fire on the rushing sea.
No more words. Hear only the voice within.