Each person who ever was or is or will be has a song. It isn't a song that anybody else wrote. It has its own melody, it has its own words. Very few people get to sing their song. Most of us fear that we cannot do it justice with our voices, or that our words are too foolish or too honest, or too odd. So people live their song instead.”
"Song of a Crazy Monk"
Where are the plum-lipped ladies of Tang? In beds of spider dust.
O let them pass, O let them go,
As the Long river eastward flow
Never to return nor backward flows.
O forget all, O forget none.
O let them pass, O let them go,
As the Long river eastward flow
Never to return nor backward flows.
O forget all, O forget none.
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