Someone has hurt the hill with a dagger
and from the wound, a spring flows.
The valley told the hill, 'I want to drink.
Let the water from your summits run'.
Love, let us go to the hill to drink the water from the watershed.
I would like to quench the thirst that your burning love gave me.
Ow, ow, ow... not even the water that flows,
my love, will quench... this thirst I feel,
my love, for your mouth.
My love, for your mouth.
It flows from the green bramble in the dark grotto.
My love flowed like that, ow, amidst bitterness.
You know well, my love, that I'm hurt.
Like a dagger in my soul, your oblivion hurts.
Love, let us go to the hill to drink the water from the watershed.
I would like to quench the thirst that your burning love gave me.
Ow, ow, ow... not even the water that flows,
my love, will quench... this thirst I feel,
my love, for your mouth.
My love, for your mouth.