When I go away from you

    The world beats dead

    Like a slackened drum.

    I call out for you against the jutted stars

    And shout into the ridges of the wind.

    Streets coming fast，

    One after the other，

    Wedge you away from me，

    And the lamps of the city prick my eyes

    So that I can no longer see your face.

    Why should I leave you，

    To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night？