My words are sharp like stings of bees in spring,
But I will die lastly when I shall sting.
I have become a nightingale right now,
To only sooth the hearts, I now shall sing.
My words are sharp like stings of bees in spring,
But I will die lastly when I shall sting.
I have become a nightingale right now,
To only sooth the hearts, I now shall sing.
