Translation by Andrew Jones, 1992
My red red heart is gleaming
Shining on these hands until they look black
The guitar in my hands is like a knife
I want to cut your face until all that’s left is your mouth
I don’t care who you are, my dear
I want to trade you my blood for your tears
I don’t care if you’re an old man or a girl
I want to cut at your hypocrisy until I get some truth
Zha, zha, zha...
The bare knife is gleaming
Shining to expose that old man’s regrets
He wrinkles his brow, pouts his lips
I don’t know if it’s out of anger or pain
Don’t worry, my dear
We weren’t born to be enemies
But my rights are like a knife
That wants to lodge itself in this piece of earth
Zha, zha, zha...
Your naked body is gleaming
Shining so that three generations of ancestors are ashamed
You opened your heart
And stretched out your hand
Saying that what you want is just my sharp blade
You’re crying, my dear
I don’t know if it’s a weak beauty or strong
Now my heart is like a knife
That wants to go through your mouth and kiss your lips
Zha, zha, zha...
© Cui Jian
Translation by Andrew Jones, 1992