Poşet [English translation]

I'd neither worship nor phone you nor play with your emotions

Neither waste my time nor rub my shoulders, I'll do my thing

I can't deal with you playing hard to get, I can't sin, I can't bad mouth you

This is love, it's ultrared, it's a museum of hurt, I can't move

My desires are painful, the sun rises slowly, I'm in a cage

It's a mere deck, feed me every now and then, I'm two notes and a lyric

I'm going to throw you in the bin, you're not worth the bag

I will light a cigarette, it's not worth the fire

Is love pitying the one who is leaving?

Is it carrying this burden?

To get on a nerve?

Ask, will it be better?

Will it* run through me?

And will the sun rise again?