What a shame;
The red wine has spilled in the gutter.
It taints the edges like blood;
The sight is quite wasteful.

I stare as trickles of water plop onto my hair,
which silently drag regret out to join them.
Where have we gone wrong, I wonder,
to taint this road as it is with our miserable sins?
How I longed to cleanse it, how I longed to free this road
of humanity's merciless cruelty.
I have long suffered from this road's misery
as though it was mine,
and have endured with great effort to save this road at last.
Yet, I am incapable of doing so,
for that red wine, the reddest stain of all,
was none other's but mine.