This is the feeling of a wild grass,
with needs gathered from morning dew,
a patch of soil, and from the juice of other plants' roots.
This is the feeling of a wild grass,
will live silently in the shadows of the real sprouts
of nature. What is my worth if the only heaven I'll reach
is just up to the soles of your feet?
What is my worth?

This is the feeling of a wild grass,
i will live with no worth,
i will die without saying a word.