All spirits in the world will be silent,
See the heat and nebulosity beyond their power,
Dread the dance of my fingers,
This passion staying alive silences everything with serene death.
This wild wind breathing leads everything to light eternal.
The world like the trapped flame in ice,
Like the wind in the portrait.
I will give you the world which only the dead feel.
My passion is faster than my thought, more intense than my hand.
More splendid than notes of music.
Your passion, it is mortal shadow.
Someday disappear.
The sun will leave and close eyes when the night comes
The raindrops, like the ice passing through the flame,
Like the wind touching the portrait,
It will be a sound of cold wave before it touches the ground.
Without me, your motion is the flight feathers of blind bird.
Your music is a shadow's afterimage of the candle light.
You must remember.
It is my sound and echoes, not your respiration,
In darkness.
My passion!
Where my two hands point, do you know!
My madness!
Where my fingers reach, do you know!
Infatuate the wandering night, force it to kiss my hand
The ends are on my hands!
My passion! My madness!
Hand, the glorious death stigma to the keys!
In pallid landscape, nobility is luminous alone!
Nobility on my hands stand on all chaos
This chaos yearn lucidity of glouriously luminous stigma
Wind of life it cannot pass through the hands.
Hand, make a new wind, make everything obey.
Wind, make discipline of death rule the world.
My sound, my legacy,
Not the shadow hands draw,
Not lucidity, it doesn't rule the chaos,
Chaos is a shabby boat drifting on the contradiction.
Stigma you give me is a shadow of contradiction.
Like light dew, vanished to embrace of sunlight
Where is the truth?
Everything must start as calm and finish as calm.
And you also die in the calm, It must be.
Sweat shimmer with the moon,
Point and flex.
His steps bid farewell to mother earth,
As light as a feather, the motion
Of his hands great an infinite space,
On the ground, beads of sweat change into chatoyant gems,
Dazzling all.
His wind-blown hair becomes melodious waves
And croon bewitchingly.
His dance, born alone, exists alone, is eternal.