Better Than Crying
I met her in a dream
I do not know in what year, on what night
By now she has probably died.
Drenching her hair in black oil,
Like the fur of a white rabbit that has died of disease
Thick white face-powder,
Smearing her lips with lip-rouge the color of blood,
She sings obscene song after obscene song, in the company of young girls
Gaily plucking at the shamisen,
Gulping down sake burning her tongue strongly like fire
Like water —
Surrounded by men just twenty years of age who do not drink
" Why do you sing such songs? I asked
In my dream
She replied
Smiling redly in a drunken stupor
Better than crying!
I do not know in what year, on what night
By now she has probably died.
Drenching her hair in black oil,
Like the fur of a white rabbit that has died of disease
Thick white face-powder,
Smearing her lips with lip-rouge the color of blood,
She sings obscene song after obscene song, in the company of young girls
Gaily plucking at the shamisen,
Gulping down sake burning her tongue strongly like fire
Like water —
Surrounded by men just twenty years of age who do not drink
" Why do you sing such songs? I asked
In my dream
She replied
Smiling redly in a drunken stupor
Better than crying!
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