Takard El (Angol translation)
And the night, with yellow eyes, steals an hour,
and while in labor, it’s waiting for the new day.
Frozen is the heart, frozen is the earth,
this is playing a perpetual
Twenty Questions with God,
accounting for life.
The act is revolving just as as the Earth revolves;
this is perpetual.
How it turns over,
when purple’s dawning through the landscape.
How will you cover your eyes
if you’re waiting for waking up with your hands up?
The wind repaints the filth at night.
A plethora of colors will be born from oil.
What was dead before now lives again,
and it will last forever.
Keep holding it, now it’s light anyway.
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