Now, people feel sorry for the dead,
They can't be in spring
Bathed in the sun
Sitting on a bright and warm hillside full of flowers.
However, the victim may be whispering.
Tell primroses and violets,
No one alive can understand.
The dead know more than the living.
When the sun goes down,
Maybe they will be happier than us.
Wandering in the shadow of the night,
Those mysterious ideas,
Only the grave knows.