很久以前就是通往封闭之过去的路，
我怎么与过去相处呢，全然不知？
那里怎么样呢？只是用鲜血洗刷平板石，
或者大门，镶在一面墙上。
或者这种回响，所有的时间让我担心，
虽然我祈祷静默，很难...
这样的回响回应着同样的故事，
那--之一，我记在心里。
Long ago were paths to the past closed,
And what shall I do with past, at all?
What is there? Just washed with blood flat stones,
Or the door, immured in a wall.
Or the echo, that all time me worries,
Tho’ I pray it to be silent, hard…
To this echo happened the same story,
That – to one, I bear in my heart.
