The Angel
Sings in endless sorrow,
For our endless sins.

Desperately flapping
Its blackened, maimed wings,
Falls aimlessly.

Its lugubrious face
Filled with
Cruel crimson tears,
With all its concomitant sufferings.

Nobody knows... Nobody knows...

The Nightingale
Stopped singing
Avowed its commitment to
The Angel's passion

Nobody knows... Nobody knows...

The oriole
Its voice parallel to the Nightingale,
Wanting a friend,
But got a martyr.
Starts tearing in silence for
The loss of its kind rival.

Nobody knows... Nobody knows...

Who will, Then
Sing for us
Beautiful melodies
That cleanses our souls
Ever Again?

Nobody knows... Nobody knows...