In the wind where the peach blossoms are flying, your clothes are flying gently.
The eyes that lowered their heads to strum the strings were filled with smiles. There was still me in the warm-toned picture, singing along with the sound of your piano.
Petals fall, birds flap their wings, and the wind blows. Pleasure and resentment are blown away.
The war is on the battlefield.
The trickling water reaches the end of the world.