My love is not a nightingale,
Wake up on the phone in the morning,
In this land that is prosperous because of the kiss of the sun,
It sang a wonderful song.
My love is not a lovely garden,
White pigeons are floating on the quiet lake.
Towards the moonlight reflected in the water,
Its white neck is nodding.
My love is not a happy home,
Like a garden,
Full of peace,
I'm happy inside,
Live like a mother,
Gave birth to a fairy: beautiful joy.
My love is a desolate forest;
Among them is jealousy,
Like robbers,
It holds a sword in its hand: despair,
Every stab wound is a cruel death.