Thousands of religions are branching out
The family tree of mankind.
And each of them praises his idol,
It's only the portrait, only the face.
The myriad eyes are gazing at it.
But it indifferently is gazing at them.
Who is it? Who is it?

Stare from nowhere, face in the rays.
It's returning.
Make me blind
Leaving behind rivers of tears.

Who remembers it as such a spiritual.
What is it?
Is it lifeless piece of cloth?
Kiss the silent picture,
Cause you are lambs of hypocrites.
Where life and death are the neighbors,
Angels spread their wings on the winds.

My hair is gray beyond my years.
I'm weary of days and years,
Laughter and tears,
Empty dreams,
Poison of the kisses.

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