The Tengu eats the moon, and the blood and tears melt into the sword; the grudges are sheathed, and the sky is no longer visible.
Riding horses to the north, the border city is uncertain; returning south to mourn, the home and country are in ruins.
Life is like a gathering of duckweeds, life is like floating dust; worry and thoughts are killing the heart, like burning fire.
Sighing is painful, life and death are not sorrowful; abandoning the sword and turning it into a sword turns into everlasting hatred!