Tune: “The River All Red”
Wrath sets on end my hair,
I lean on railings where
I see the drizzling rain has ceased.
Raising my eyes
Towards the skies,
I heave long sighs,
My wrath not yet appeased.
To dust is gone the fame achieved in thirty years;
Like cloud-veiled moon the
Thousand-mile land disappears.
Should youthful heads in vain turn gray,
We would regret for aye.
Our emperors captured,
It is a burning shame.
How could we generals
Quench our vengeful flame!
Driving our chariots of war, we’d go
To cut through our relentless foe.
Valiantly we’d cut off each head;
Laughing, we’d drink the blood they shed.
When we’ve reconquered our lost land,
In triumph would return our army grand.