Misty rain in March, the flickering South You sit in your empty rice shop holding the apple in one hand and destiny in the other Search for your own fragrance
People hurrying outside the window Cast their eyes over the damp road Your steps glide across the empty room Time then drifts away like smoke
My love, can you feel that tomorrow has arrived Our boat is waiting in the dock I will wash my hair and crawl up the mast hold our home of sweet vine leaves