Loss
On threshold of the night,
They await the last evening to pass.
They eyes are filled with sorrow,
Unwillingly,
They forget themselves in the pathways of sin.
You think they are drunk because of the flames of estrangement
From hopes they left behind;
They are not.
But the shock is so hard on a sprout emerging
In the spring of their eyes.
They did not wish for their wounds to leave their footsteps,
Stolen at the very beginning of the path,
Where they stayed away from the blossoms of their days;
They rested in an exhausting exile that leafed out in their chests.
That’s what losers do with their time,
At the end,
When the last path heads nowhere in the face of night;
For they gave everything,
And no words are left for them
From the wine of speech to make a judgment.
Therefore, they no more care about the screams
Coming from their memories
Locked behind the door of life.
Oh, how noble it would have been of their dreams
To stay on paper,
In the closet.
遗憾
夜幕降临的时刻，
他们在等着 这最后一晚的流去。
他们的眼内 满是悲伤，
很不情愿地，
于罪恶的道路上 忘却了自己。
你想 他们的“醉”全因自己的希望之火，
统统流失了吗，
然而 事实却并非如此。
但 对于萌发的种子来说，
冲击 是如此巨大，
尤其 在他们的眼中 有春天的印迹。
他们不想 自己的伤口会留下疤痕，
上路的片刻 希望便已被偷取。
在那 他们远离了盛开的花火；
于一次疲惫的放逐中憩整，
自胸口 吐出了叶状的叹息。
此便是 失败者会利用时间所做的，
到最后，
夜幕降临时 最后一路 亦终成死途；
因他们付出了一切，
却 未留下任何他们的寄语，
即使 是从酔语里 得出的成绩。
终于 他们不再尖声呼唤，
这 来自于他们的记忆，
当初 是被锁在命运的背后之际。
哦 他们的梦想 是何等的高尚，
应被记入纸张，
珍藏 于橱柜里。
