When all living beings are silent, I will sing with my sword; there is no song in the world, but I will make my own music!
The sky is silent, the chivalrous bones are clanging; all living beings are prostrate, but the chivalrous man is independent!
Destiny gave me shackles, and I turned them into harp strings; rumors weaved a cage, and I pecked through it and used my beak as a knife!
