Tell me
one hundred days plus one hundred nights
will the sum of them be more than two hundred?
In a song, the sun and the bitter wormwood
when blended, will ignite the heart?
The singer’s eyes are closed
Is he on the way of melody
or sweats in the street outside the melody?
The magic of years
can soar as fireworks once mouth is opened
You sing, then get closer to the constellation
Words whip, the shining horseshoes
bloom moth orchids from the heart sky
Sleepy stars are nearby
just between every twinkle and smile of clouds
The song is all your belongings
A trace of tears, is able to
do Midas touch, too beautiful to be sad
The footsteps of fate cross the heart
The ancient well is surrounded by locust trees
the bucket just goes down
the moisture come out from singer’ lip
Tranquil, and quenched the thirst
you pluck at the strings again on the road
Singing up yourself
your mouth shape becomes a symbol
Five fingers open Bodhi tree branches
Deep in pupil, the torch in cave
shines on you until you come to reach the end
where you read the hieroglyphics on the walls