It's close to dawn, horn's voice is sounding,
the armies set off, like the flood of the water,
stars on the sky, grass on meadow, it may be a lot but
is not as much as the number of the nice cavalry men.
Among all, the nicest and most valiant
hey, his arm is strong, with this wind-rapid horse,
he starts off in a galopp to the direction of the sunset,
The Earth is trembling, too by the singing of my Love.
Behind stone walls his blood is brave,
the folk of the prideful west is mocking,
its treasure, its flower, will be a gift,
I buy them for my Rose in exchange for my blood.
Oh my Flower, my Flower,
my good world is to end,
my dear is far away
I can't find his trace,
I live alone my life and my death!
Oh my Flower, my Flower,
my good world is to end,
my dear is far away
I can't find his trace,
I wish he returned intanct!