Silk Drawing Drama (牽絲戲)

Who mocks those who boast of their beauty? Without a heart, how can they match?

The sound of the bells is crisp, the lights are dim between the curtains.

You and I are the most destined pair.

Only without you can it be called original sin; only without a heart can they truly match.

You are tattered, I am painted; we walk side by side through mountains and waters.

You are haggard, I will bring you brightness.

It is you who kisses the ink, staining my tear-stained eyes.

For whom do the joys and sorrows of love and separation play out?

They misinterpret and go in circles, but I am only governed by you.

Tell me, is there anything more perfect in the world?

With a graceful gesture, one dances through the river of worldly matters.

On a three-foot red stage, all things turn into songs.

Sing away the sadness that never comes to be; in the most vivid reds, ashes unexpectedly remain.

May someone remember someone; the best years.

When you pull me, I dance as if flying; when you guide me, I understand when to advance and retreat.

Both joy and sorrow follow; every gesture of mine does not betray.

Let humility and gentleness become absolute.

You are wrong, and I refuse to agree; you are naïve, and I am ignorant.

How can the flames of the heart be content to stop boiling with a ladle?

While you wither, I do not wilt; while you grow weary, I do not dare to tire.

What can warm you for a thousand years?

In the wind and snow, the tips of the white-haired autumn seem faint.

The lights are bright, wrinkling your eyebrows.

If you were to shed a tear, if I could accompany you as you age.

Even in the smoke and waves becoming ashes, achieving perfection is still possible.

In the wind and snow, the tips of the white-haired autumn seem faint.

The lights are bright, wrinkling your eyebrows.

If you were to shed a tear, if I could accompany you as you age.

Even in the smoke and waves becoming ashes, achieving perfection is still possible.