Paroles et traduction Dilraba - 浴火成詩 (with 毛不易)

浴火成詩 (with 毛不易)

女：
人常说天涯地角
步步有穷时
为何穷尽
挨不过这相思
霜融成字 花开写诗
惟我不善这言辞
男：
谁送我寒冬落魄
春暖逢生时
一次便作废了生死
飞鸿跨雪追日添白丝
痛戛然而止
爱是指尖生悦的刺
女：
为我心心念念几个字
浅情人不知
赴不尽这扑火退羽
几成痴
男：
倘若唯唯诺诺在这弹指
怕枉费一世
不浴火 不成诗
女：
人常说天涯地角
步步有穷时
为何穷尽
挨不过这相思
霜融成字 花开写诗
惟我不善这言辞
男：
谁送我寒冬落魄
春暖逢生时
一次便作废了生死
飞鸿跨雪追日添白丝
痛戛然而止
爱是指尖生悦的刺
女：
为我心心念念几个字
浅情人不知
赴不尽这扑火退羽
几成痴
男：
倘若唯唯诺诺在这弹指
怕枉费一世
不浴火 不成诗
女：
在这颠颠倒倒的乱世
浅情人不识
看不破这扑火退羽
几成痴
男：
沁于山川湖海燃于笔纸
再写你一次
不浴火 不成诗
不浴火 怎成诗

Forged in Fire (with Mao Buyi)

Woman:
They say the ends of the earth,
Every step leads to an end.
But why, even at the end,
Can't I escape this yearning?
Frost melts into words, flowers bloom into poems,
Yet I am unskilled in such language.
Man:
Who delivered me from the despair of winter,
To the rebirth of spring?
With one glance, life and death were rendered meaningless,
Like a wild goose crossing snow, chasing the sun, adding white strands.
The pain abruptly stops,
Love is a delightful thorn on the fingertips.
Woman:
For a few words that I constantly dwell upon,
The shallow lover knows not,
The endless pursuit of the moth to the flame,
Nearly consumed by obsession.
Man:
If I hesitate and falter in this fleeting moment,
I fear wasting a lifetime.
Without fire, there is no poetry.
Woman:
They say the ends of the earth,
Every step leads to an end.
But why, even at the end,
Can't I escape this yearning?
Frost melts into words, flowers bloom into poems,
Yet I am unskilled in such language.
Man:
Who delivered me from the despair of winter,
To the rebirth of spring?
With one glance, life and death were rendered meaningless,
Like a wild goose crossing snow, chasing the sun, adding white strands.
The pain abruptly stops,
Love is a delightful thorn on the fingertips.
Woman:
For a few words that I constantly dwell upon,
The shallow lover knows not,
The endless pursuit of the moth to the flame,
Nearly consumed by obsession.
Man:
If I hesitate and falter in this fleeting moment,
I fear wasting a lifetime.
Without fire, there is no poetry.
Woman:
In this topsy-turvy world of chaos,
The shallow lover fails to see,
Unable to comprehend the moth's relentless pursuit of the flame,
Nearly consumed by obsession.
Man:
Immersed in mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas, burning onto paper,
I write about you once more.
Without fire, there is no poetry.
Without fire, how can there be poetry?