—Every time I walked to the bridge over the Love River and turned to enter the Museum of History, I would invariably wonder whether my feet were stepping on the victims' souls. My heart would automatically ask: have your souls indeed rest in peace? Ah! Have your souls truly rested in peace?

Stepping out of the Museum of History
I see the bustling crowd around the glove puppet show
Scene after scene, the puppeteer
Leads the plot down its destiny
Behind the stage, I see mirror images others can't see

6th of March, 1947
Around the Museum of History
Bodies piled up on the bridge over the Love River
One by one, each was shot
One by one, each was assassinated
One by one, each fell
One by one, each lay in pools of blood
Dying the clear river water red
In the conference room of the Museum of History
The intelligentsia was framed and murdered
One by one, each dropped to the ground, drenched in blood

On 6th of March, 1947
The puppeteer behind the scene
Plotted an evil show of massacre
Each victim's body was
Pockmarked with dozens of bullet holes

While friends from distant lands see stories of Takao's beautiful legends
I see sad mirror images others can't see
The cogwheels keep
Tearing at my heart with their teeth

Published in Issue 10 of Tâi-bûn Chièn-Sōaⁿ magazine, April 2008