我走了出去，一个鬼祟的巫女，
在夜里更大胆，紧追着黑风；
梦想着做坏事，我轻轻飞过
普通的人家，一盏盏的灯：
十二个手指的孤独者，早已忘怀。
这样的女人不太象女人，
我一向是她那一类。

我在森林里找到温暖的洞穴，
在里面放上煎锅，雕刻，绸缎，
橱子，柜子，无数的摆设；
给虫子和精灵准备了晚餐；
我呜呜地叫着，把这混乱重新安排，
这样的女人总是被人误会，
我一向就是她那一类。

我一直坐在你的车中，赶车人，
我挥着裸臂答谢途经的村庄，
认定这最后的光明之路，幸存者，
你的火焰至今咬在我的腿上。
你的轮子转动，我的肋骨压碎。
这样的女人不会羞于死亡。
我一向就是她那一类。

have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.