The person listening to Mozart curls up like a child,
his eyes following the curled wallpaper as if it were the blue sky,
just as though his invisible sweetheart were whispering in his ear.

The melody annoys him in the shape of a question
which he cannot answer,
because it easily answers itself,
leaving him behind.

the lover's words so vulnerably spoken to the whole world . . .
a caress too tender to survive this earth . . .
a prophecy too cruel to be realized . . .
the 'Yes' which rejects every possible 'No!'

the person listening to Mozart stands up.
He shakes off the caress of mother-music
and walks downstairs towrad the street, looked for an answerable question.

(Translated by William I. Elliott and Kazao Kawamura)