Oh, life,
This question keeps flashing in my mind,
Like unbelievers,
Flowing in a crowded city.
Oh, ordinary,
Oh, no wonder,
What's the point of this life?
Running around every day to make a living,
I can't afford anything because the price is too high.
Oh, helpless,
Ah, no,
Because I'm just a child of a migrant worker.
My hometown is far away,
In my dream, the Buddha said to me: It is better to go home. . . . . .