I see my grandma lying in bed alone each lonely night,
Talking her fictitious stories again and again,
She talks when she lived in a luxury house with a four-acres land,
She talks when she lived with such glorious family,
She talks when she lived sunshine, flower, magpie and Robin,
She talks when she lived with everything that can be described as happiness,
Everything is just so perfect, except her old, homely and black face.

I see my grandma? scraggly finger pointing to the star,
And I see the horrific wound on her hand,
She talks how the noble family beat her with a thick stick,
She talks how her child was taken away from her weak hand,
She talks how she tried to escape following the stars just like tonight,
She talks how many times she was captured as a rat struggling in a mousetrap,
The shining, attractive stars illuminating the gloomy sky,
I wonder how many times she looks at them and chase them,
But brambles and chains reach to her feet.

I see my grandma mumbling and trembling,
I get close to her plate mouth,
¨Let me go.”