She loves suffering, stray dogs,
And she can't stand people.
She's a night person and hates the daytime.
She loves the setting sun and fears the approaching dawn.
Why are you so out of sorts, when she's not around?
She'll cruise the city right after a rainfall,
Constantly changing directions,
So you can never find hide nor hair of her.
She might depart saying, 'See you tomorrow",
And then disappear for a number of years.
Why are you so downhearted, when she is gone?
She's fully contented, has no wish to hide anything,
Not even the most petty of things.
It's sad, how nighttime without her is empty,
It's sad, how her voice would drift away, like the smoke from her cigarette.
Why is there no life in you, when she is gone?