The flower-tinted cheeks, the fiery close
of each heart beat, these are enough for me -
enough that in my sad heart wanes and grows
the shadow of a weeping willow tree.
Two thousand eight hundred and twenty three;
of all the life lines that the world can toast,
these are the ones that I remember most.
Yes! These are enough for me.
Of all great numbers that for virtue live,
who look to heaven as their just reward,
to me the innocent and the victims give
the temple of the blessed with hope restored.
Beside a river the wine of life is poured.
It trickles past, and so flows our life away.
So sweetly, so swiftly passes day after day.
So swiftly! But enough for me.
Look upon the towers that fell for their art -
the blood, sweat, and tears that fell in vain.
Do they not move you, bring grief to your heart?
I have enough of sorrow and enough of pain
and for what, for what did this terror reign?
There can be no justice, only sweet-scented flowers
that sleep on our hearts beneath tear-born showers.
The tears are enough for me.
I pray for some hope for each lost, naked soul
that caused destruction in the name of paradise.
Though death and sorrow were their only toll,
my spirit soars freely though my heart cries.
To be so misguided by foolery and lies!
There are no great words to express it more clear,
such sad words to linger upon the ear.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for thee.