我们不曾把欢乐彻底碾碎，从中榨出痛苦之酒。
你我之间的爱单纯得像一支歌。
Hands clg to hands and eyes lger oh begs the rerd of our hearts，
It is the oonlit night of March；the sweet sll of henna isthe air；y fte lies on the earth ed and yarnd of flowersunfished.
This love beeen you andis siple as a song.
Your veil of the saffron lour akes y eyes drunk.
The jase wreath that you wovethrills to y heart like praise.
It is a ga of givg and withholdg， revealg and sg aga；so siles and so little shyness， and so sweet eless struggles. This love beeen you andis siple as a song.
No ystery beyond the present；n for the ipossible；no shadow behd the char；nthe depth of the dark.
This love beeen you andis siple as a song.
We do not stray out of all words to the ever silent；we do not raise our hands to the void fs beyond hope.
It is enough what we give a.
We have not crhed the joy to the utost t fro it the e of pa.
This love beeen you andis siple as a song.