The Seventh Chapter Of The Night This is a famous chinese song that i like so much,it's called"夜的第七章" the song is backgrounded on a murder in london of one night long time ago i had tried translated it into english,not very well just translated directly hope you'll like thibeautiful chinese song The seventh chapter of the night the pitch alley of 1983,one clear december,comed the seventh chapter the typewriter continued to move over,more and more closed to the truth by the next line weeping in silence to me,floating over the withered tree,the fog of the heathered pipe round plazza side the baker street,on the arm of the knight's armor fleur-de-lis on the badge,was reflected a beam none's carriage sounded,a visit kate at night in the shadow of the victoria's moonlight,evil became the prelude of the blood the disappearing pistol,the blackened cane,the melting wax who's the absence?all the illusion of the symbols on the jewelry box the contradiction has roaded the way to,the deadend of he had built,the evidence had been buried perfectly the mocking scotland's, lip's uping If the evil,is the splendidly cruel music-track(then the justice,will be the deepless helpless desperation) i will definitly write down it's ending myself(then i will light on,the glimmer light in the final ash) the ray of the very dawn,had air-dried the last row's melancholy(then the raining night,will wash away the darking wall's evil) the dark ink,had tinted one piece of serene(the shutting light turned off,the red screen falling down) the truth can only pinned through,the soil on which had no footprints Obtrusive and subtle flowers' fragrance,deliberate and prominent costumes everyone wearing a masquade told a lie for his own reason the name was called lust for his own motive fafafafafafafafa....... overthrough the swamp of the human nature who can really out of this came clean? we could choose to forget,forgive but must we know about the real facts the iron bed had been moved so the last peice of chart finally been pathced up i sensed the footsteps,the anticipated soft leather heels he pushed open the door, the kerosene lamp swayed by the breeze i turned back while the typewriter writing had just stopped at the the name of the murderer Westminster's night began to boil... the brightly colored death bloomed on the breast sipping the last sweet truth smiling recollecting the justice was just the silent access here came the violin floating up the Thames