An t-éan bán ag eitilt gan stró as do bhéal. Agus mise I mo sheasamh faoi do sholas géar. Na síoda ag titim barr do theanga. Níl mé abalalta na focail ceart a rá leat.
Ba mhaith liom na sléibhte is airde a dhreapadh agus na focail a bhéicil amach os cionn na scamaill is airde.
Nior fagadh na focail agam. Grá mór, grá fior, grá an domhain, is é an grá is laidir. Tá mé I ngrá leat.
Ba mhaith liom na sléibhte is airde a dhreapadh agus na focail a bhéicil amach os cionn na scamaill is airde.
Nior fagadh na focail agam. Grá mór, grá fior, grá an domhain, is é an grá is laidir. Tá mé I ngrá leat.
[The white bird flies with ease from your mouth. And me standing there under your sharp light.
The silk falling from your tongue. I'm not able to say the right words to you. I want to climb the highest mountains and scream the words out over the highest clouds. The words don't leave me. A huge love, a fierce love, the love of the world, this is the strongest love. I'm in love with you.]
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