On my shoulder, from the tender heart of Heaven, your tears fall like the gentle rain.
The soft rain, mixed with the seeds of dormant sadness, lies deep in the core of my affliction.
Like the early morning dew, your tears, awaken the drowsy leaves.
The sleepy leaves of the old dreams, strangled by the thorns of sadness.
In our nights of extreme misery, these thorns of sadness always grow.
They always grow and strangle our hearts with despair.
On my shoulder, from the tender heart of Heaven, your tears fall like the gentle rain.
The gentle rain that fills the wells of the rejuvenating springs.
The rejuvenating springs that enliven the trembling life in the veins of the lifeless leaves.
As you make them encircle the dancing flowers,
when they sway with the breeze of your sobbing tears.
Your sobbing tears are capable of infiltrating the cracks of my heart,
and in its most hidden recesses, dispel the darkness of the tormenting years.
On my shoulder, from the tender heart of Heaven, your tears fall like the gentle rain.
Like the torrent of rain that sweeps away the barrier of the natural boundaries.
The natural boundaries of the illusive hills between the two of us,
and in our new spacious land, our new life can find a life free of pain again.