Strum the string amidst the cold mountain breeze.
Behind the bushes lies the tormented ashes.
In each sunset, the jungle rolls like boulders screaming-
Fly swallow fly, until the last gasp be heard in silence.
Strum the string amidst the warm mountain spring.
Behind the bushes none of secrets and lies.
In each sunrise, the jungle hosts life eternally-
Fly swallow fly, until the last gasp be written in stone.