Yearning for mother, ONE, I hold on to my ball. There's no need for tears so, TWO, I'll get rid of those eyes. As promised please, THREE, let's cut off our fingers The footsteps of reality, FOUR, suddenly stopped.
These beloved lips, FIVE, I seal shut with glass. So that you don't escape, SIX, I tie you up. Scattering red flames, SEVEN, drops trickle down. The camellia's hopes, EIGHT, fall down with a plop.
The sorrow, NINE, erases someone's time. I ask that you softly count it off on your hand ball.
(You will surely reach it) That singing voice. (That is eternity) A glass counting song. (I give it to you) A glass hand ball.