Every night, my ink runs
As I write about life on my parchment
It becomes a sweet outline
But it is still piled up on the bookshelf
Inside the book of past and present, of East and West
And in one of your novels
It is unattainable
The printing type should desire to come alive
Like an opening door, the front cover
Is still opening
Abandon reality and come
This is the bibliothèque of admiration
The divine spirit at the end of the pen
In your perceived right hand
Writes up a tale of the senses in my brain
Ah, please tear up my body
Quickly, my beautiful delusions
Please pour them
Until I faint
Wisdom is filled with flashes of light and darkness
While it matures, it dwells in my words
The severe intoxication of devils and heavens
Besides, I don't need anything else
And I can fly to your world
If you have the power of imagination
I am absorbed in reading for life
This is the lifelong bibliothèque
Its appearance can be recited beautifully
In a line of musical letters
Both my eyelids and heart are rolled up
By the dazzling illusions
Please, when you are again about to
Smash this soul violently
Let me finish just one more ending, please
Strangeness becoming stranger than reality
This is the forbidden bibliothèque
After I have died, tear off its blue, faded skin
I want you to tan it, sew it up, and decorate its binding
And while wearing the mildew of time
It is the only privately printed book in the world
And until someone picks it up, I will conceal my breath
I am, indeed, the illusion that you drew
As I write about life on my parchment
It becomes a sweet outline
But it is still piled up on the bookshelf
Inside the book of past and present, of East and West
And in one of your novels
It is unattainable
The printing type should desire to come alive
Like an opening door, the front cover
Is still opening
Abandon reality and come
This is the bibliothèque of admiration
The divine spirit at the end of the pen
In your perceived right hand
Writes up a tale of the senses in my brain
Ah, please tear up my body
Quickly, my beautiful delusions
Please pour them
Until I faint
Wisdom is filled with flashes of light and darkness
While it matures, it dwells in my words
The severe intoxication of devils and heavens
Besides, I don't need anything else
And I can fly to your world
If you have the power of imagination
I am absorbed in reading for life
This is the lifelong bibliothèque
Its appearance can be recited beautifully
In a line of musical letters
Both my eyelids and heart are rolled up
By the dazzling illusions
Please, when you are again about to
Smash this soul violently
Let me finish just one more ending, please
Strangeness becoming stranger than reality
This is the forbidden bibliothèque
After I have died, tear off its blue, faded skin
I want you to tan it, sew it up, and decorate its binding
And while wearing the mildew of time
It is the only privately printed book in the world
And until someone picks it up, I will conceal my breath
I am, indeed, the illusion that you drew