1, you make me immortal, which is your joy. This fragile cup, you keep emptying it and filling it with new life. This little reed flute, you carry it over mountains and valleys, and blow out the music of eternal faith from the flute tube.
Under the immortal touch of your hands, my little heart melted into boundless happiness and uttered unspeakable words. Your infinite gift is only poured into my little hand. Time has passed, you are still pouring, and I still have room to fill in my hand.
When you ordered me to sing, my heart seemed to explode with pride. I looked up at your face and tears welled up in my eyes. All the astringency and contradictions in my life have melted into a sweet and soft homonym-my praise is like a happy bird, flapping its wings across the ocean. I know you like my singing.
I know that only because I am a singer can I walk in front of you. I touched your feet with the far-reaching wings of my singing, which I never dreamed I would touch. Drunk in the singing, I forgot myself. You are my master, but I call you a friend.
I don't know how to sing, my master! I always listen in surprise. The brilliance of your music illuminates the world. The smell of your music fills the sky. The holy spring of your music rushes forward, through all the blocked rocks. My heart longs to sing with you, but it can't make a sound.
I want to talk, but the words don't reach the song, so I can't call them out. Oh, my master, you have turned my heart into a captive in your music net!