There's a pot of wine under the flowers.
I pour it for myself, there aren't any friends around.
I lift my cup to toast the moon.
Three friends: the moon, my shadow, and myself.
The moon doesn't understand that drinking is an art.
My shadow copies my movements.
But they are still my drinking buddies,
and we will enjoy the springtime before it is too late.
When I sing, the moon sticks around.
When I dance, the shadow scatters.
We were sober, and we cheered together,
Now I am drunk. Let us go our seperate ways.
We will be friends forever,
Until we meet again in the cloudy river of the sky.
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