A bird on a wire,

Reeds rustle on a beach,

The wind moves through them both,

The dust has no time to settle,

Before taken flight,

Air will turn sour,

Before it is liquor,

The soul will become fire,

Before it is love,

The flame ,

The flame,

Oh the mercy on the wind,

It is what makes the reed love the bird,

It is what makes me love myself,

And before the trumpets sound,

In a slight instant ,

Through a broken window,

And while the world is turning over in its sleep,

A single cymbal crashes,

The flame ,

Oh flame.