Inside of me,
there is so much of myself, I have no place for you to rest,
with vain hopes, there is no place you can feel comfortable.
Inside of me,
the darkness I can’t manage steals the place you can rest,
the sadness I can’t overcome is like a thick thorny forest.
When the wind blew,
dried branches were rubbing against each other, crying.
The little tired birds which had come to rest, flew away, hurt by thorns.
When the wind blew,
I was lonely and distressed, so I sang sad songs for many days.
Inside of me,
there is so much of myself, I have no place for you to rest...
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