Play, little cricket, play
Oh, drive me mad, don't stop
Although all people say
that crickets die while playing.
Where do I hear your voice from?
Are you not a sound illusion?
There aren't any crickets long ago
Amid this crazy motor roar.
Where do I hear your crying from?
Inside the heat of the concrete,
Do you still dream of lawns like me
And do you want to tell me something?
Or may be somehow
I have carried you into my soul,
And now, if I am not wrong,
From there I can hear your song.
Wherever you are staying now
please play, I'll sense your presence.
My not entirely forgotten life
will flow in me through you forever.