Chorus: It's been a long time coming, long time astray;
She dug a hole in the earth in this foreign land;
But her fingers leave no imprints in desert ground
Her song make no sound
Medea: Chorus! Oh my chorus! Sing it for me, home
Chorus: She will return at house and years old from hour glass living
And when she kisses him she fills his mouth with sand;
A cast around the inside
Medea: Angel, all the angels, heal him,make him home
Chorus: They say that Aphrodite dips her cup
In the clear stream of the lovely Cephisus;
It is she who breathes over the land the breath
Of gentle honey-laden winds; her flowing locks
She crowns with a diadem of sweet-scented roses
Where will you find (the) hardness of purpose?
How will you build resolution in hand or heart
To face horror without flinching?
When the moment comes, and you look at them -
The moment for you to assume the role of murderess - How will you do it?
When your sons kneel to you for pity
Will you stain your fingers with their blood?
Your heart will melt, you will know you cannot
Messenger: The bride will receive the golden coronet
Receive her merciless destroyer;
With her own hands she will carefully fit
The adornment of death around her golden hair