Fire on the mountain, smoke in my veins,

Your echo’s a spark in the canyon of my name.

I run through the embers, barefoot and wild,

Chasing the ghost of your volcano smile.

Night pours gasoline on every memory,

Flames write your letters across the sky I see.

Ash becomes snow, I breathe, I burn, I climb—

Love is the fire, and the mountain is time.

The mountain still remembers

how we ran barefoot through its veins,

laughing like wind in the pines.

Every stone we kissed

now sings our names in echoes,

cold and clear as the dawn.

I climb alone, fingers bleeding quartz,

trading sweat for the ghost of your hand;

at the summit I breathe your absence,

let it fall like snow—

展開更多 ▼

群山在呼喊，回聲撕裂沉默的天幕，

我踏碎云霧，心臟擂響巖壁的鼓；

風(fēng)把星辰撒成火種，照亮嶙峋的骨，

每一步墜落的石，都是向天空的書。

當(dāng)雪線吞沒最后一絲人世的煙，

我聽見山以我的名字，

把永恒喊成瞬間。

Up the mountain, wind sings your name

Stone by stone, we chase the flame

Clouds unfold like silver pages

Ink our hearts on sky-high stages

Every breath, a vow we keep

Climbing out of doubt so deep

When the night starts pulling down

Your voice lifts me off the ground

Higher, higher, through the cold

Turning every fear to gold

展開更多 ▼

Shadow Mountain, where the echoes never sleep,

We carved our names in stone, where the lost ones keep.

Your voice still rides the wind, through the pines so steep,

I climb the dark alone, promises to keep.

Light bleeds through the cracks of a sky we once broke,

Thunder hums your name—never spoke.

At the summit’s edge, I breathe the ghost we fed,

Shadow Mountain remembers every word we never said.

We have to fight, through the smoke and the silence,

When the sky forgets how to break into light.

Bruised hands build ladders from the ash of our past,

Every heartbeat a drum, every scar rewrites the night.

We have to fight, not for glory, but for breath,

For the names still whispered beneath the roar of death.

If we fall, we fall together—seeds in the dust,

Tomorrow’s army, growing from the rust.

古彝山下，風(fēng)唱舊年，

火把影子搖紅祖先的臉；

口弦一聲，月光就彎，

把游子的腳印縫回氈房邊。

鷹飛過，經(jīng)幡把云卷，

松脂滴成時間的簽；

我舉杯，敬天、敬地、敬無眠，

讓骨里的鼓點——

一聲聲，把山風(fēng)敲成歸途遠。