Since İstanbul has been "İstanbul"; hasnt seen such agony. Dying of love, no trace of pride left in me.
How bitter, bitter it is so self-defeating man. No cure for betrayal yet, heart is a huge black hole.
Nothing to do, heart it is, lost. New skin, new amusement also; I know.
Need a southern wind, a paddle, a boat, few bottles of ruby wine stashed; red sky, red land. I curse at what came to past, so what it's a disgrace! morning star, leftover of the night, falls over me.