In a garden behind a brick wall,
That was scrawled during the famous centuries,
There a girlie sits in autumn in the front of an arbour
With an eyepatch.
She lets herself to be told a story1 about the speaking bird
from a notebook
Then she sends a kiss by fluff of thistle,
To a fictional address.
Ch: Please, leave her alone, ah, leave her alone,
that blind girl,
Please, leave her play,
She is presumably playing the sun and the heaven after all,
And even if she was playing them, she wouldn't see them.
A story about the speaking bird,
And about three golden apple-trees,
And also about love, that is brought in the black flowers of poppies
by the horse-riders.
A story about a magic word,
That awakes every cursed one,
A story about a rainbow, that sleeps on an island,
Where you can find a treasure.
Ch:
Recital: In a garden behind a brick wall,
That was scrawled during the famous centuries,
There a girlie sits in autumn in the front of an arbour
With an eyepatch.
She is touching a flower with her hands,
And the butterflies don't bother her,
She's just playing a little with an amulet necklet,
Just for a while.
Ch:
1. I'm not quite sure about the right translation of this, but basically it means that someone else reads a story for her