(למה אין תרגום נורמאלי ל"עונת מעבר" באנגלית?)

Pre-winter, still I'm blurred by this barefoot swinging
Where does the love go? I'm sending my octopus hands
wherever it belongs to

Past's dissimilarities is able to be felt
Outside smells good almost as bathtub closest mates
Where does the love go? The lyrics get shaped with the lead

I'm hanging up my virginity on the branches and roll on the
grass
the leftovers are quiet tasty, it is possible to find much
down the organs

...This crazy tempo doesn't allow asking where does
everything go...