Ten little candles, on my finger tips,
Dripping wax upon my magenta meadow.
Their hums, like baby nightingales,
And they sway like pretty dancers.
On the soil of my homeland, I sit,
Watching the ten darling angels,
Longing to feel the heavenly lights;
For the first time, my heart hums.
Ten crimson flames, on my finger tips,
Dripping joy upon my bare hips.
Their hums, like baby nightingales,
And they spin like ballerinas.
On the grass of my homeland, I sit,
Watching the ten darling angels,
Longing to feel the heavenly lights;
For the first time, my soul sings.
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