Again waking me up from a dream, a tune of p'i-pa in the
still of the night!
Whose sorrowful thought,
And whose fingers,
Like a gust of chilly wind, a spell of depressing rain, and a
shower of falling petals,
So late at night.
In so drowsy a world,
Are strumming of taut chords to send forth these
disturbing notes
To blend into the night in the deserted street,
While a waning moon hangs on top of the willow tree?
An, the silver of a moon, a shattered hope, and he, he ...
Wearing a tattered cap,
With clanking chains on his back,
Laughs and dances on the path of time like a mad soul
That's all, he says, blow out our lamp,
She is waiting for you beyond her grave,
Waiting for you to kiss her, to kiss her again, and again
