The Virgin is combing her hair
Between two curtains
Her hair is made of gold
And the comb is made of silver
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
They drink from it, and drink from it, and drink from it again; the fish in the river, they want to see God's birth.
Ohh, ohh...
The Virgin is washing linen
And hanging it to dry on the rosemary shrub
The little angels are singing, and the rosemary shrub is blossoming
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
They drink from it, and drink from it, and drink from it again; the fish in the river, they want to see God's birth.
She is walking all alone
But for the company of the child whose little hand is in her hand.
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
They drink from it, and drink from it, and drink from it again; the fish in the river, they want to see God's birth.
Oh whoo
The Virgin is washing linen, with a bit of soap; she punctured her hands, hands of my heart.
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
They drink from it, and drink from it, and drink from it again; the fish in the river, they want to see God's birth.
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
But look at how the fish drink from the river,
They drink from it, and drink from it, and drink from it again; the fish in the river, they want to see God's birth.