It's my last hope.
The sun in its afternoon swirl. It's up there. Far,
                 far and I still feel that
There's always hope.
It's fresh fruit meeting the tongue. It's playing
                 King of the Mountain.
It's the budding smell of spring flora.
It grows on trees.*
                 We pluck it, make it purchasable.

खोमसि हरनि उनाव
फुंबिलिनि सुदे बारजों
दावसिन दावलानि मेथाइजों
समायदों फुंबिलि सम।
जोमै साग्लोबनाय अख्रां
आं नायदावना गिखांदों
हरनि समा आंखौ सिगिदों
फैबावबाय फैबावबाय नै दानो
खोमसिया सोंथेफैबावबाय।
फैदो नों बिबारि
सानजाहा मिनि खैरेना
होफैदो सोरां आंनि मेगनाव
फै सना
फैदो खैना
सान जाना जोंब्लाव फैदो।
बिबारि गावदां गेवलांफैदो
नोंनो होफैदो
सैथो सोरां सैथो स्रां।