Rice cutters in November

From Guangxi to Jiangxi

I always meet the rice cutters grovelling in the field.

Province after province

The grass is yellow

Province after province

This country was willing to use gold to pave the ground.

But there are people who are always in the dusk

Like some bent black nails.

Who will appreciate this ancient magic

The rice cutter is turning a grain of gold into a white rice.

Don't hurry like I do in my car

As if there's some urgent matter

Crossing three provinces in one day

Occasionally feel a few more rice cutters dotting the earth.

To shout at him to stand up

To see the faces that contain the least gold

To see what colour sweat they shed.