When I go away from you

    The world beats dead

    Like a slackened drum.

    I call out for you against the jutted¹ stars

    And shout into the ridges² of the wind.

    Streets coming fast，

    One after the other，

    Wedge you away from me，

    And the lamps of the city prick³ 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？