Your hair had turned to pale ashes,
and the ghostly day drifted your desires
over the Milky Way,
I praise your dreams, quietly floating
on the high clouds,
I prefer not to reveal their secrets.

Open your palms,
I want to read the untold stories
without any feelings,
tears make my eyes tired, so
I never cry,
your chivalric image
stands locked in Time, that I can celebrate
life-in-death.