Drop By Drop, The Wound Is Bleeding

On your sunken face, the tiredness of the years,
The deep lines on his face, the oppressed gaze,
Disappointments, troubles,
The only one,
More than itself, this weariness but,
Ruins of girls, held by the hand,
Their love, their pain,
Their storms.

In the trouble of bread, in the little shop,
The burden of the street, oh, and,
Ruthlessness in,
In short, the struggle for livelihood.

In an effort to stay afloat, with his hand in his pocket,
Being a "Heavy Sister", is it easy?
She has trouble in her heart,
In an effort to survive, to exist,
Forgotten her own longing,
In an effort to calm the storm of the girls.

Her postponed hopes,
To the slopes of Arafat's longing,
She hid in one day,
At the head of a corner,
The future has appeared,
Maybe hopes, no hope,
She's never tasted, but also,
Longing for motherhood, longing for it,
You name it.

Got it from the street,
From the dangers,
Out of ugliness,
Washed with love,
Purified from all impurities,
From all evil,
The feeling of motherhood,
Blessed his love for the child,
She answered, in the little heart,
Floods love.

Best of all, your titles,
"Heavy Sister", crowned herself,
Embellished with the phrase "mother", each of her adopted girls,
Your world alone,
Will never be deceived,
Will never be abandoned,
The plane tree thought it was her heart.

But this world is dirty,
Once, it threw its hand,
Both to the child,
To innocent hearts, to all,
With her little mind, she's complied with the devil,
She struck the dagger, and one day the room,
We were not, instead of the most,
With a motherly heart.

She cries for her labor, now "Heavy Sister",
Burning with the last blow, now "Heavy Sister",
Drop by drop, the wound is bleeding.