In plain words
Āṇṭāḷ, to the clouds: Great clouds that rise surging and swallow the sky, you who gather and climb and pour your rain on Vēṅkaṭam so that the honey-filled flowers scatter: if he who tore open the body of Hiraṇya with the sharp claws set in his own flesh would give back the bangles he took from me, tell him my state.