I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
The drunkenness of old times
In the wooden seaside villa with its deserted boathouse
The roaring Southwestern wind is trapped,
My thoughts are trapped.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is flying around your skirt
I know if your forehead is hot or cold
Or your lips are wet or dry;
Or is a white moon is rising above the hazelnut tree
My heart's fluttering tells me
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed