Spring in my hometown

It's a simple memory

They are names that are too vulgar to be vulgar any more

That string of golden wilting horns

It's green, it's hairy, it's thorny, it's Halahai

That little garlic in the field

That field of sowthistle

Stabbing the hungry taste buds all the time

Turn into the bitter sweetness of childhood

Deeply imprinted in my heart

When the red mountain is in full bloom

Burning hot nostalgia

Eternity flows in the blood