1. When they bury me, no matter when, North wind or South wind blowing,
Misfortunes take turns oppressing me, I do not protect myself,

2. With tools made of brambles and palm fronds.
Have they seen in my deathbed the crimes I committed,

3. Legions of demons frightening and wailing?
Does the earth whose color has whitened

4. Take on the color of red-hot sins?
The soil says how many have I covered for mankind,

5. Pillows of anxiety or blankets of grief.
And if I have not brought good, I hope

6. To bring solace with the good from sins.