Once people harvested in April,
Lying atop tall grain piles, laughing.
I walk through golden wheat fields,
Singing to the scarecrow,
Waiting for the dusk wind to pass by.
You pass through a small town named "Me",
Just as snow on the roof melts into falling rain.
You wear translucent clothes,
Singing only for me alone,
All the songs I love dearly.
Let’s go to the lakeside of the vast prairie,
Waiting for migratory birds to return home.
When we grow up, we’ll have a child.
He will grow up and drift away on his own,
Then we will go our separate ways too.
I will write letters to you,
You need never write back,
Let it be just like this.
