Vivante [English translation]

The colour of her skin

Is dark and bewitching

And the smell of her words

Blown from her angel's mouth

There's nothing more beautiful

There's nothing more beautiful than a tragedy

In a story of love

Of respect, of hate, or tears

She feels alive

Alive when she is sad

She's given her throne away again

Where she feels that she exists

When morale came*

To align itself with her dreams

To make her less responsible

For all her beautiful lies, lies, lies...

She invents games

Games of gooses and charm**

Your life is the pawn

And the devil takes your sole

She feels alive...