When tales of gentle and tranquil steppe come along from distant journeys,
Swallows in flocks embrace them with their circling welcome.
Since the day the little birds split the Water of Immortality on its land palms,
They didn’t dare to ever leave the turquoise steppe.

Once, when I was riding next to my father many years ago
I saw swallows flying all over the lone hills, searching for something special.
As I return from a distant time, today
I seem them again, still diligently circling in their search

Yet, missing to catch the tale’s intent my father had told to me
I happened to see a poor little swallow passing away into death
Despite that it had found the Water of Immortality beforehand
I grieved, what a pity that the poor little bird itself didn’t somehow drink it.

There was a day, too, where I promised to myself
To bestow the Water of Immortality that I would find before the swallows
Foremost to my father, who shared with the son the choicest and the best
Of those everlasting tales with their foretelling sights.

Alas, in this short-lived world son’s promises do not always come true.
My father passed away and his son could not find the Immortality Water.
As swallows do circle around haunting me again and again,
It is as if they want to ask where to uncover the Immortality Water from.

For my motley eyed son who is to take hearth and home of mine,
This time, I am the one to tell the Swallow Tale as my father once did.
For life is not eternal, I will fade away too,
To leave the Swallow Tale behind to my children.

With the tale’s coming to an end the Immortality Water is found,
And finally people become immortal, indeed.
You take the Immortality Water to the swallows to taste in the steppe
Where my dreams will remain forever with the Golden Swallows in the steppe.