ARIRANG

ARIRANG

ARIRANG
ARIRANG

A MOUNTAIN
IN THE MIST

ARIRANG
ARIRANG

MY LOVER FADING SLOWLY
IN THE MIST

THE MIST IS LIFTING
HE IS GONE

MAY HIS FEET HURT
BEFORE HE GOES A MILE

ARIRANG
ARIRANG

MAY EVERY BONE IN HIS FEET HURT
AS MY HEART HURTS

THE PAINS IN MY HEART
ARE AS NUMEROUS
AS THE STARS

WHAT DID WE ARGUE OVER
I DO NOT KNOW
SOME LOVER’S FANTASY
SOME WOUNDED PRIDE

ARIRANG
ARIRANG

I WANT HIM BACK
HIS FEET BOTHERED
BY SOME PEBBLE IN HIS SHOE
QUICKLY REMOVED

BUT WAIT
IN STARLIGHT
DO I SEE
MY LOVER COMING BACK
TO ME
NOT HOBBLING
BUT ON NIMBLE FEET

FRANK A VOLLMER