The oil full of levity rested upon the sea’s surface 

Until the lightness began its ascent 

And burnt red to create the heavens. 

Then the residual ash thickened

To shape the banks of Hokkaido

Along with the traveling whispers of water

And the frost- shrouded, lofty rock.

The mist steered by gravity settled

Unto the new-born landscapes.

And from the vapor configured an apparition

Of graceful divinity and rich supremacy.

With the birth of one, came the birth of another

Whose delivery painted the clouds. 

By their celestial hands brewed 

The kingdoms of plant and animal.

And upon their creations 

Was their sacred matrimony.

With their union came the children of deities

Who reigned and shone 

In the highest heavens

To thin the shadow-lands of mist.

 

Fall, fall, silver drops, all around.

Sirokanipe ranran piksan 

Unto the peaceful land of Humans.

Fall, fall silver drops, all around. 

Unto the peaceful land of Humans. 

 

A gift from the heavens was Okikurmi, the half-divine, 

Who descended down Upon the tribesmen.

In paradise they lived freely 

But were hindered by blindness.

The half-divine bestowed

The work of tradition and survival.

From then on the tribesmen,

Nourished by the coral fish and the grain wine,

Gave servitude and honor to the sacred.

They continued their simplicity 

And the sincerity of ways in the peaceful land.

Greeting thy neighbor with the light of tenderness

And the words Let me softly touch your heart.

Discerning living energy among all earthly realms

Weaving the fresh veins of elm bark 

To be embroidered by contoured design.

Chanting the music and history 

Of a proud people near the gathered fireside.

But the Certain must always reach 

And disturb the lands of peace.

 

Fall, fall, silver drops, all around.

Sirokanipe ranran piksan 

Unto the peaceful land of Humans.

Fall, fall silver drops, all around. 

Unto the peaceful land of Humans.

 

The arrival of the exploring man

Wandering into the peaceful lands. 

Differ in face and habit. 

Were once our equals in trade

But now invade and dominate.

 

As all civilizations must reach the last breath of survival

So must the ones with rooted tradition 

That have lasted through the times of antiquity.

But now have become so tenuous under the hand of imperial man 

A language that literally bestowed humanity unto its tribesmen 

Has now been degraded by the folklore of the tradesmen

Savages, they thought, their only use is gathering the wild bush

What power do the fair Ainu hold?

Barbarians in bark-woven dressings.

 

By their cruel force, we were herded north

Along the trail of tears from our peaceful land.

Our native tongue outlawed 

Our holy hair cut. 

Only to be enslaved in large carved

Wooden dugouts on the sea. 

And the future generations 

To be left with barren ways.

Fall, fall, sanguine drops

Unto the peaceful land of Humans.