One, two, three days,more days I waited for you, my dear,as long as prisoners wait,for the freedom they do not have.

So the flower waits for spring,a mother for her first child,longing burns the heart,the plant withers in the field.

Have I tired you out, my heart,I have surely annoyed you,but quicken those steps,I have set out toward you.

Time no longer counts the days,centuries of waiting bite at me,but hope is stronger,not dreams, miracles begin with it