This whistling, riding on the wind, must reach you



A black smoke rises high in the distance

The flame has burned out, the sun will take you from here



Your heart resounds and sways even in the distant road home

Wind of gold, caressing your cheek

It must be morning soon



The shadows reflected in the evening become very long

And pile up onto each other, visiting the night

I want the clock to hurry up, until I can meet you

Earth, rotate just a little faster



Those resurrected summer days

Your long shadow, separating into the distance

I was always watching you, in tears

I want the clock to hurry up, until I can meet you

Earth, rotate just a little faster



...The flame has burned out

The familiar street sparkles in the twilight



Wind of gold... Wind of gold