Though hope will quarrel against passion
Though petty beings will escape my hands,
I'll always be stronger,
I'll always be passionate,
I'll always protect others,
Hope being grass, I won't grasp it
Passion being fire, I won't tire it
Petty beings being black, I want luck
Black like a joyful chick,
Black like a moth
Black like a ghost
They were four,
They were sour,
They were ardour,
Those petty beings were my life
Those petty beings were one
Those petty beings were mine
But, I let them die.
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