It's wind, that wakes men's sense of smell,
It's such a wind...
It's frost, that marbles men's jaw,*
It's such a frost...
You aren't for me either thyme or rose,
Not "tender moment in the moonlight"—
But you're dark wind,
But you're white frost...
It's such a rain, that reshapes woman's lips,
It's such a rain...
It's glow, that exposes woman's thighs,
It's such a glow...
You don't look for my strength,
You don't think about trust,
But about salty rain...
But about gold glow...
It's heat, that burns lovers' bodies,
It's death, that opens lovers' eyes;
It's such a death...
Now, in this ephemeral ecstasy
We're making ivory tower,
It's pure like a flame...
It's smooth like a death...
Pure like a flame...
Smooth like a death...