The typhoon cannot be beaten, I know it must have its rain. Oh my clothes, my clothes. If only the air could more quickly relieve you of your heavy watery burden. But already it carries so much.
Tomorrow the shinkansen will take me away and you must be dry to come along. We go on a tour of Japan, from top to bottom, it seems. Nine nights I will not be in my bed and you will be lonely if you must hang in such an empty room.
How many open views from traveling windows will go by without you? How many new halls, new faces, new hotel rooms will you never see? How many subway melodies and hotel hallway songs will you never hear? What will be without you?
You might never know, and be no less happy for it. But I certainly want you there. That it may be in your fiber for years to come. And that I may be clothed and decent.