At the mountainside, he's buried
He who was beheaded of perfidy
Died in sumor blessed with snow,
At night upon his hidden grave
Moss and wilderness grow;
Whoever passes by that mountain
Leaves nothing to his grave
But the filthy footprints on him,
He's lived a life without remorse,
I hope he who they are looking for
Shall have returned to his source.

O' my grace, make me a dandelion
Let the winds be my best friend
And fly me beyond the clouds
Of sorrows that never end,
Make me reach the destination:
A place where eternity lives on,
Where there are no wars,
Only exists peace and harmony
In the presence of sacred stars;
And after flying for hours
I shall fall on his effulgent feet,
Let this dandelion be thy slave,
Let this dandelion be complete.

If the chinars are my home
Sorrows are my guest,
Guests that visit me often
And to whom I desire rest,

O' thou effulgent deity,
I leave before you, my sorrows;
Autumns were always my friend,
Bright clouds, Lovely winds
And rich meadows I want to attend,
This world has been cruel to me
I have lived a life of great misery,
Now this man is full of sleep,
Let me kiss thy effulgent feet
And end this never-ending weep.

Here stands him, on a buffalo
Blue-skinned in donning red robes,
He leads a very tiring journey,
A journey where end all the roads;
I haven't yet pleased my Shiva,
Spare me some time,
Let me do one last Abhisheka,
While you count the sins of my lifetime;
Do lower your mace and noose,
And hell or heaven, Let me choose—
And now what I foresee, O' Yama,
If this soul abandons me,
I will be left with a heap of bones
And stinking flesh of no use,
Kindly leave this soul, Let it be.