Beneath the veil of mountains blue,
Where clouds embrace the skies,
A lonely flute sings soft and true,
While ancient rivers rise.

The bamboo breathes a silver song,
The moonlight fills the stream,
And drifting mists move slow along,
Like fragments of a dream.

The silent peaks remember all
The hearts that passed before,
The autumn leaves that gently fall,
The love that speaks no more.

A thousand years may fade away,
Yet still the flute will sing,
Of blossoms lost at break of day,
And spring’s returning wing.

Oh, let the restless heart be still,
Let sorrow turn to rain,
For in the hush of every hill,
Peace blooms like flowers again.

And when the final notes depart,
Beyond the clouds they roam,
The flute leaves silence in the heart,
And silence leads us home.