Facing the sea breeze, the closed window sash finally opened.
The Queen of Sudan look at that raging sea,
In the distance, silver waves beat against the Black Island.
The guitar trembled between her fingers,
She listened ... a deep voice accompanied by the beat,
Could it be that a Turkish warship returned from Kos Island?
Cruising in the Greek islands with Tatar paddles?
Did flocks of cormorants jump into the water?
When you came out of the water, you dropped crystal drops from your wings?
Maybe elves howl in the night sky,
Throw the piles of pheasant coal in the turret into the sea?
Who frightened the sea outside the Sultan's harem?
It's not the black cormorants that fluctuate with the blue waves.
Not the collapse of the wall stone, not the ships at sea,
When you move forward slowly, you will make a rhythmic sound.
It was a heavy bag, and there was a cry from inside.
If you look at the end, your pocket will drift with the tide.
It seems that the people in the bag are crying and shaking.
Ah, the bright moonlight flickers and jumps between the waves.