Becau
se of you I cho
se exile,
I’ve been e
stranged from my tribe for
some time.
I watered my flower with my tear
s,
Inju
stice! Don’t take me away from my flower.
There’
s nothing wrong if a king want
s a pauper,
If a pauper de
sire
s a king, he can’t help it.
My de
sire i
s too high; my luck i
s too low,
There i
s no cure for thi
s pain but death.
What’
s with the melancholic a
scetic?
He argue
s with me about faith and religion.
The religion of the lover i
s the beloved.
I’m taking no path but my own.