The ugly, horning out, and showing his fangs.
Of Fukakusa the prostitute, becoming the talk of town love affairs, and make a great fuss.
On the night of the Bon Festival, like baking soy sauce, it smells.
No mother I need, scattering her stones, at the river a child dances.
The things being hard to get (I got), my right hand and right eye, the day I lost.