| [00:00.69] |
Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; |
| [00:03.71] |
willow trees may have died back, |
| [00:06.17] |
but there is a time of regreening; |
| [00:08.09] |
peach blossoms may have fallen, |
| [00:09.82] |
but they will bloom again. |
| [00:11.47] |
Now, you the wise, tell me, |
| [00:14.75] |
why should our days leave us, never to return? |
| [00:17.65] |
If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? |
| [00:20.75] |
Where could he hide them? |
| [00:22.71] |
If they had made the escape themselves, |
| [00:24.56] |
then where could they stay at this moment? |
| [00:27.06] |
I don't know how many days I have been given to spend, |
| [00:29.79] |
but I do feel my hands are getting empty. |
| [00:32.87] |
Taking stock silently, |
| [00:34.36] |
I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me. |
| [00:38.81] |
Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, |
| [00:42.54] |
my days are dripping into the stream of time, |
| [00:45.12] |
soundless, traceless. |
| [00:46.58] |
Already sweat is starting on my forehead, |
| [00:49.27] |
and tears welling up in my eyes. |
