Текст и перевод песни 方大同 - 南音

南音

在他的墨鏡裡
看不到二泉的月映有多麼矇矓
只記得少年時
練習著二胡時琴弦勒出了血紅
三十四歲後失明了
怎麼用他雙眼尋找自己的光榮
小時候拉奏著浪淘沙
他們說他是個天才兒童

可是下一個畫面裡
他就走在街頭販賣著他的童夢

喧嘩酒家中擁擠的小巷中
他拉著等待著誰為他而動容
音樂沒人懂
打賞要人懂因為他真的很窮

漆黑北風中飄渺的燭光中
他想他總能為人們奏出彩虹
音樂自己懂
一樣有聽眾沿途點亮 他命運的燈籠
二泉映月 他才不管紅與不紅

圓圓的墨鏡裡
自圓其樂昭君出塞自有人歌頌
他人窮名不窮
他人窮志不窮音樂證明他有用
回家路上由他老婆
摻扶著拉奏著那一曲才最感動
不知道路過的聽到的
免費的有沒有因此心痛

可是下一個畫面裡
他就走在街頭販賣著他的童夢

喧嘩酒家中擁擠的小巷中
他拉著等待著誰為他而動容
音樂沒人懂
打賞要人懂因為他真的很窮

漆黑北風中飄渺的燭光中
他想他總能為人們奏出彩虹
一樣有聽眾沿途點亮 他命運的燈籠
二泉映月 他才不管紅與不紅

最親愛的聽眾
想像他們的臉孔流淚或滿臉春風
老爸是他英雄 他慈祥的臉孔
也漸漸地消逝在南音的琴聲中

漆黑北風中飄渺的燭光中
他拉著等待著誰為他而動容
喧嘩酒家中擁擠的小巷中
他拉著等待著誰為他而動容
音樂沒人懂
打賞要人懂
沿途點亮 他命運的燈籠
二泉映月 他才不管紅與不紅

Southern Tunes

Through his dark glasses,
he can't see the hazy moon reflecting in the Erquan spring.
He only remembers,
as a young boy practicing the erhu, the strings leaving bloody red marks.
Blind at 34,
how can he use his eyes to seek his own glory?
As a child, he played "Waves Washing the Sand,"
they called him a child prodigy.

But in the next scene,
he's on the streets, selling his childhood dreams.

In the noisy restaurants, in the crowded alleys,
he plays, waiting for someone to be moved by him.
No one understands the music,
tips require understanding, because he's truly poor.

In the pitch-black north wind, in the faint candlelight,
he believes he can always play a rainbow for people.
The music understands itself,
there are still listeners, lighting the lanterns of his fate along the way.
Erquan Reflecting the Moon, he doesn't care if it's popular or not.

Behind the round sunglasses,
contentment finds its own joy, Wang Zhaojun's journey has its own songs of praise.
He may be poor, but his name is not,
he may be poor, but his ambition is not, the music proves his worth.
On the way home, his wife,
supports him as he plays, that melody is the most touching.
Those passing by who hear it,
does the free music make their hearts ache?

But in the next scene,
he's on the streets, selling his childhood dreams.

In the noisy restaurants, in the crowded alleys,
he plays, waiting for someone to be moved by him.
No one understands the music,
tips require understanding, because he's truly poor.

In the pitch-black north wind, in the faint candlelight,
he believes he can always play a rainbow for people.
There are still listeners, lighting the lanterns of his fate along the way.
Erquan Reflecting the Moon, he doesn't care if it's popular or not.

Dearest listeners,
imagine their faces, with tears or full of spring breeze.
His father was his hero, his kind face
gradually fading in the sound of the southern tunes.

In the pitch-black north wind, in the faint candlelight,
he plays, waiting for someone to be moved by him.
In the noisy restaurants, in the crowded alleys,
he plays, waiting for someone to be moved by him.
No one understands the music,
tips require understanding,
lighting the lanterns of his fate along the way.
Erquan Reflecting the Moon, he doesn't care if it's popular or not.