She is moving,
Her movements are like architecture.
Recalling this,-oh, no, I'd rather not recall it.
What can a mortal man do with his flesh,
In which there are neither flowers nor wind.
She is always making us
Wait for her so divinely long.
She is my drama.
What more can I say?
She is my drama.
This is a perfect world.
This is the road in the other direction.
We came across the science twice-
I never understood what's to be done about it.
Now we'll sing about love,
We shall find it on tomorrow's maps.
And when the final comes,
We shall laugh-we were not blind.
She is my drama.
What more can I say?
She is my drama.
