Slanting rain comes down, running their noses, the Jizou statues with strawhats stand still.
A man she longs for, to draw eyes with blue, a deceit it is.
Into a mouth floating in the sky, an admission fee for me, to throw.
To be stupid, to stop to catch our breath, at the Bon Festival.
Not to crawl out of, or awake or asleep, being still in a dream.