Leaving this city of lights,
O you, who went away,
to a distant dream, a distant land,
deserting our world,
what a trend you have set!

Flowers still bloom here, you see,
and hues still settle at sunset,
but the heat of dread
burns the buds on every branch,
and shades of separation,
replace our sunset.
Abandoning our world, O you who left,
what a trend you have set!

Little lamps are lit here,
and the bazaars too buzz with life,
but in the emptiness of the heart,
exists a single thorn,
and with that a desire for your glimpse.
You lit a lamp of longing in us, O you who left,
what a trend you have set!

It's true, we have nothing to give,
no buds in bloom, no dreams,
and who has ever returned
from a garden to a wasteland?
Indifference is the need of this time, you see.
It's true that our world,
is nothing but an empty desert,
slowly each candle burns out,
and life is nothing but a favour on this body.

but still, this wish of loyalty,
awakens and misses you sometimes,
and whenever Autumn comes in this sorrow,
it kills this restless soul.