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

浴火成詩(伴奏) (with 毛不易)

女：
人常說 天涯地角 步步有窮時
為何窮盡 挨不過這相思
霜融成字 花開寫詩
惟我不善這言辭
男：
誰送我 寒冬落魄 春暖逢生時
一次 便作廢了生死
飛鴻跨雪追日添白絲
痛戛然而止
愛是指尖生悅的刺
女：
為我心心念念幾個字 淺情人不知
赴不盡 這撲火退羽 幾成癡
男：
倘若唯唯諾諾在這彈指 怕枉費一世
不浴火 不成詩
女：
人常說 天涯地角 步步有窮時
為何窮盡 挨不過這相思
霜融成字 花開寫詩
惟我不善這言辭
男：
誰送我 寒冬落魄 春暖逢生時
一次 便作廢了生死
飛鴻跨雪追日添白絲
痛戛然而止
愛是指尖生悅的刺
女：
為我心心念念幾個字 淺情人不知
赴不盡 這撲火退羽 幾成癡
男：
倘若唯唯諾諾在這彈指 怕枉費一世
不浴火 不成詩
女：
在這顛顛倒倒的亂世 淺情人不識
看不破 這撲火退羽 幾成癡
男：
沁于山川湖海燃於筆紙 再寫你一次
不浴火 不成詩
不浴火 怎成詩

Bath in Fire, Become Poetry (Accompaniment) (with Mao Buyi)

Woman:
People often say, the ends of the earth, every step has its limit,
Why, reaching the end, can't I get over this longing?
Frost melts into words, flowers bloom into poetry,
But I am not skilled in such language.
Man:
Who gifted me, from winter's despair, to spring's revival,
In one moment, life and death became irrelevant.
Wild geese cross snowy skies, chasing the sun, adding white threads,
The pain comes to an abrupt end.
Love is a delightful thorn on the fingertips.
Woman:
For the few words that occupy my thoughts, the shallow lover doesn't know,
Endlessly rushing towards the fire, wings burnt, almost driven mad.
Man:
If I remain timid in this fleeting moment, I fear wasting a lifetime.
Without bathing in fire, one cannot become poetry.
Woman:
People often say, the ends of the earth, every step has its limit,
Why, reaching the end, can't I get over this longing?
Frost melts into words, flowers bloom into poetry,
But I am not skilled in such language.
Man:
Who gifted me, from winter's despair, to spring's revival,
In one moment, life and death became irrelevant.
Wild geese cross snowy skies, chasing the sun, adding white threads,
The pain comes to an abrupt end.
Love is a delightful thorn on the fingertips.
Woman:
For the few words that occupy my thoughts, the shallow lover doesn't know,
Endlessly rushing towards the fire, wings burnt, almost driven mad.
Man:
If I remain timid in this fleeting moment, I fear wasting a lifetime.
Without bathing in fire, one cannot become poetry.
Woman:
In this chaotic, topsy-turvy world, the shallow lover doesn't understand,
Cannot see through this, rushing towards the fire, wings burnt, almost driven mad.
Man:
Imbued in mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas, burning on paper and pen, I write you once more,
Without bathing in fire, one cannot become poetry.
Without bathing in fire, how can one become poetry?