I want to go back to girls lands;
take me to a soft country of waters.
In large pastures grow old
and make the river fable and fable.
Have a source for my mother
and in the siesta go out to look for her,
and in jars I got off a rock
fresh, sharp and rough water.
Beat me and stop the breaths
stale and icy water.
Break my glass and drink it
I will become girls the entrails!
