陰陽座揺籠の木
Japanese
Rōmaji
(くれない)ひとひら 風に揺られて落ちた 祝いの花か 死花花(しかばな)産着(うぶぎ)帷子(かたびら) とうに野火手(のぼて)は落ちて 常世(とこよ)に生まれて 寂しかろ (こずえ)(えだ)に 稚児(ややこ)は実る 渡る夜風に 揺られて(ねむ)母喰鳥(ははくいどり)が ひとつ(うた)えば夜更(よふ)朝風(あさかぜ)吹くまで ねんねしな ()()(ねや)に 青葉(あおば)(くる)みに 母の(かいな)を 知らぬ(まま) 薄紅色(うすべにいろ)の (ほほ)一滴(ひとしずく) 夜露(よつゆ)は (たま)(いた)む涙 時告鳥(ときつげどり)が ひとつ(うた)えば夜明(よあ)朝影(あさかげ)射すまで ねんねしな まだ戸は()かぬ
English Translation
A crimson petal fell fluttering in the wind Are they congratulatory flowers, or funerary paper flowers? A burial shroud as your swaddling clothes The fire at the head of the funeral procession has faded long ago It must be lonely to be born into the land of eternal youth The treetops and branches fruit with babies They sleep while rocked by the passing night breeze It is late at night when the owl sings Your bedtime is until the morning breeze blows These branches are your bedroom, the green leaves your blanket You know not the arms of your mother A single drop on a light pink cheek A tear of night dew that mourns your soul It will be daybreak when the rooster sings Your bedtime is until the morning light shines The door will not open yet