Do not be sad to think of me,

Do not be sad to think of me,
Tighten the spikes on the ribs, under the shoulder blade.
I've danced in your month,
And you give me a hand quietly.
Hold me, I'm a bit blind,
Blame the Golden Sun.
Look what a flexible path,
It's confusing - nothing valuable.
Some corners - impossible to understand,
where to go, to whom to stab your knee.

You hold your hand tightly ... well, well,
That way this deer do not know me ...
Do not be sad about me,
Everything is fine and everything will be fine.
I will take care of your moon,
To make the road look smooth for us.