Sunflowers shine near the fence,

Silently sick people sit in the sunshine.

Women strive singing in the acre,

Into which monastery bells chime.

Birds tell you a far away tale

Into which monastery bells chime.

From the courtyard the violin sounds softly.

Today they press the brown wine.

Now man appears glad and dulcet.

Today they press the brown wine.

The chambers of the dead are open wide

And beautifully painted with sunshine.