Your body is a chariot,
Of Gods and kings,
Of powerful and almighty.

But I don't envy them,
I don't count how many had riden.
It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how many hands had held your hand,
Or had combed your hair,
Or how many lips had touched yours,
Or how many arms had embraced you.

Your body is indeed a chariot,
And our souls as the diesel.
Without each other we can't go far.
For as long as I am the last passenger,
Your chariot shall never be wrecked
For our souls are infinite,
Thus, my darling,
No bumpy roads we cannot pass.