Reminding us of your so distant land      
and swaying with your shining decorations, 
you"re looking at our merry-making and
seem glad to be with us, in some way Asians. 
You"re like a foreign bride whose farewell feast
today is in, let"s say, in some way East,
though everywhere it"s natural for you
to look as now so beautifully blue. 

Alas, it was in vain, another try
to recollect the quiet of your forest. 
The living soul inside of you would cry. 
That"s sore. That"s very sore. But what"s the sorest 
is that none outside of you would hear. 
And only that we"re so delighted here,
can be poor consolation now for you 
as always looking beautifully blue. 

Oh, Christmas Tree, you have resigned yourself
to your inevitable fate already
to die betrayed. No, this time not for pelf
but just for fun. Your branches are still ready
for us another time to get fluffed up. 
And yes, it is the bitterest, the cup 
that we are raising, Christmas Tree, to you
the last time looking beautifully blue.