In the sea of human beings,
Do you dare to isolate yourself from the world and be alone?
Let the people around you make trouble,
But you are indifferent; indifferent, I guess,
Like a flower in the desolate desert,
Don't want to blow your fragrance into the breeze?
He smiled--the harshest irony of sorrow;
He spoke—cold words, not from the soul,
He acts like the others and eats delicious things;--
Yet, yet he longed for—though feared—death;
He longs to arrive, even though he seems to be escaping
The final destination of that gray career.