Fārúxuě
lánɡyáyuèyīrénqiáocuì wǒjǔbēiyǐnjìnlefēnɡxuě
A crescent moon, cold and gray,
Is when my fair lady pines away
A cup in my hand,
Downing snow and wind of all kind
shìshuídǎfānqiánshìɡuì rěchénāishìfēi
who upsets my former life
stirring up dust and grief?
yuánzìjuéjǐfānlúnhuí nǐsuǒméikūhónɡyánhuànbùhuí
Our fate is already written down,
No matter how many times it goes round.
hard and sad you wrinkle your brows
crying over beauty fading like the hours.
zònɡránqīnɡshǐyǐjīnɡchénɡhuīwǒàibúmiè
Even if history goes up in ashes
my love never ever dies.
fánhuárúsānqiāndōnɡliúshuǐ wǒzhǐqǔyìpiáoàiliǎojiě zhǐliànnǐhuàshēndedié
of all the bustling waters flowing east in thousands
I only take one scoop to bear in minds
Obsessed with the butterfly
flapping in your after life.
nǐfārúxuěqīměilelíbié wǒfénxiānɡɡǎndònɡleshéi
Hair flowing, snow falling,
It takes beauty and sorrow to make a parting.
Whose heart is touched when incenses are burnt?
yāomínɡyuè rànɡhuíyìjiǎojié àizàiyuèɡuānɡxiàwánměi
Inviting the moon to light up a past,
full, and bright, the love shall ever last.
nǐfārúxuěfēnfēileyǎnlèi wǒděnɡdàicānɡlǎoleshuí
Your hair flows as the snow falls
Scattering away hot tears
Who, in my wait, has advanced in years?
hónɡchénzuì wēixūndesuìyuè wǒyònɡwúhuǐkèyǒnɡshìàinǐdebēi