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 [bad word] 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.