Rags and tatters, rags and tatters,
rags and tatters — that's my life.
Food — somehow I pick it up along the road;
my house — I let the weeds grow all around.

Watching the moon, I spend the whole night mumbling poems;
lost in blossoms, I never come home.
Since I left the temple that trained me,
this is the kind of lazy old horse I've become.