The cloudless, blue summer sky in the heavens above,
The air feels recycled, almost artificial
My trance-like state, broken by the cicada songs,
Yes, it is a song, not a cry or scream
The cicadas provide a welcome break,
Otherwise, the demon in my head would have eaten me alive
The hot summer air scorches my face as I walk through the lush green meadow,
Mother Earth talks to me noisily, like an orchestra
Is the meadow alive? I ask mother Earth!
One of the cicadas talks to me, welcome dear visitor
I look into the cicada’s eyes, bright red, almost demon-like,
Its red gaze penetrating the depths of my soul, burning it
I tell the cicada, ‘I have everything, yet there is a chasm deep within.’
Not unlike the serpent, amid this heavenly meadow
The cicada sings to me, my eyesight overpowered by the bright summer light,
The air now a pleasant breeze, the demon now a benevolent daemon
The air feels recycled, almost artificial
My trance-like state, broken by the cicada songs,
Yes, it is a song, not a cry or scream
The cicadas provide a welcome break,
Otherwise, the demon in my head would have eaten me alive
The hot summer air scorches my face as I walk through the lush green meadow,
Mother Earth talks to me noisily, like an orchestra
Is the meadow alive? I ask mother Earth!
One of the cicadas talks to me, welcome dear visitor
I look into the cicada’s eyes, bright red, almost demon-like,
Its red gaze penetrating the depths of my soul, burning it
I tell the cicada, ‘I have everything, yet there is a chasm deep within.’
Not unlike the serpent, amid this heavenly meadow
The cicada sings to me, my eyesight overpowered by the bright summer light,
The air now a pleasant breeze, the demon now a benevolent daemon
