Where ancient pagodas touch the sky,
And mountain clouds drift slowly by,
The river wears the moon’s pale light,
A silver path through endless night.

The bamboo flute begins to sigh,
A lonely song beneath the sky.
Its tender breath, its quiet tone,
Awakes the dreams of hearts alone.

The guzheng strings like raindrops fall,
Their gentle echoes softly call.
Through misty peaks and waters deep,
They sing the world of dreams asleep.

No hurried footsteps cross the stone,
No restless voice disturbs the lone.
The temples wait in silence old,
While clouds embrace the peaks of gold.

And if your heart has lost its way,
Let music guide the night to day.
For where the river meets the sky,
Even sorrow learns to fly.

So close your eyes, let thoughts depart,
Let mountain winds embrace your heart.
The flute will fade, the stars remain,
And peace will find your soul again.