Even if you stumble sometimes, to be able to walk, you know,
Oh as to say what for comfort and for stretching at your ease,
Who said they placed a bench in the corner,
Lovers of the true love kind were in the hands of a street seller.
Even the marvellous beauty of birth,
Wherever you watch from is much filled with tears, with blood, with sweat,
Isn't that so, my life?
Those are strangers, whatever they say to be able to live, you know,
As they look for a calf under an ox,
Such a moment when one puts salt on wounds,
and lovers of the true love kind glude out from partings (they don't let it tear them apart).