The twisted hands of time are endlessly tying up a golden string
And the unraveled, tore up occasions I had will leave a shade on my history
A song of love for the earth while waiting for the dusk,
A forest calling for the visitors’ souls;
People coming to this world with their hands strongly tied together
Walking forward while embracing even their battle scars…
The plain one could live in is filled with light,
A praying voice is echoing
Pushing my way through the morning mist I hear the sound of running horses
As the hills question for the visitors’ destined place
The sky grows in flames as a flock of black kites spreads away
And the remaning ashes of each battle dance carried by the wind
The dying wasteland will be gave back to the ash
As the twisted hands of time are endlessly tying up a golden string
To start a new tale;
Each moment, keeping on unraveling, will leave a shade on my history
Traced by an amber-colored finger
The plain one could live is shrouded in light
The moonlit night’s dancing children will dress up over and over in gold strings
Gazing at the firmament
Lighting up a festival lamp on the rising peepul tree
Praying for tranquility in life…
The twisted hands of time are endlessly tying up a golden string
Traced by an amber-colored finger
Translated by Shion