When I was young, I prepared that in spring,
l'd travel around the world by pathways unknown,
My mother had embroidered a shirt for me,
With threads of red and threads of black,
With threads of red and black, embroidery.
The two colors of mine, the two colors,
You are both here upon the cloth, and in my soul.
The two colors of mine, the two colors,
The red one - that is love, the black one - that is grief.
I had wandered aimlessly throughout my life,
And in returning home to one's own threshold,
All interwoven were they, like mom's embroidery,
My fortunate, and sad,
My fortunte and sad pathways.
The two colors of mine, the two colors,
You are both here upon the cloth, and in my soul.
The two colors of mine, the two colors,
The red one - that is love, the black one - that is grief.
I have noticed that I have become grey,
And I have nothing to bring back home with me,
Except bundles of old embroidered cloth,
And my life that is embroidered,
And my life that is embroidered upon it.
The two colors of mine, the two colors,
You are both here upon the cloth, and in my soul.
The two colors of mine, the two colors,
The red one - that is love, the black one - that is grief.