In the garden of life,
Grows a sapling of pain,
The deer of songs nibbles at it.
The winds of seperation
Blow through the night,
A few leaves drop.

A few leaves drop,
Mother, they drop,
And sounds stir in the garden.
If a few birds of breath
Should fly away,
The deer of songs is afraid.

But the birds of breath
Will surely fly,
Nothing can hold them back.
Through the night
In every direction
They fly away.

Don't be afraid, deer of songs,
The leaves of pain
Do not always stay fresh.
Though the saplings of pain
So filled with perfume
Sprout easily.

Don't forget that you possess
The sac of musk,
That you have a lot of pain,
That your face
Is beautiful
And your words precious.

So keep on leaping
And keep on jumping
What you are doing is right.
Around your neck
Lie garlands of sorrow,
May more of them rain upon you!

In the garden of life
Grows a sapling of pain,
The deer of songs nibbles at it.
The winds of seperation
Blow through the night,
A few leaves drop.