Oh’ Great Mountain, reaching far into the sky!
How long will you find satisfaction in self love? 
Though just a tiny butterfly, I am yet free,
To dance on a flower head while you remain shackled.

I am the bitter fruit falling upon the earth.
Thus in the clutches of time I remain.
O spring of liberty! Your grace, what else it could be 
But to render this bitter fruit sweet?

What, Alas, has been my joy from the cup of life? 
Like a candle burning in the blowing wind,
I tremble, I burn, ... I die.