I see red
Of course she is red

                                                                A fire I do not dare to grasp
                                                                But oh, do I dream

Not mine
Of course not mine

                                                                This much is customary
                                                                 I'm used to that

Beautiful, and full of joy
                                                                It's always this way
                                                                Why is it always this way?
                                                                She must not know
                                                                I have to tell her
                                                                But do I?
That sweetness
I will never have