Let the criminal hear
For the crime of troubling the realm with a brush
Exile is ordered to an island at the southern edge
The gates of Hanyang close behind my back
The dawn fog erases my name
The gat is taken off, the robe is torn
What remains is only ink-stained fingers
Guards' footsteps, the sound of chains
A thousand ri of road laid out beneath my feet
What I wrote was not a lie
It was a kingdom where truth is a crime
Road of exile, road of exile
Southward, southward
Though the brush breaks, the ink does not dry
Road of exile, road of exile
The sea is calling me
The rice fields end, the stone walls grow lower
There is salt in the wind now
An old woman at the tavern holds out a bowl of soup
And bows her head without a word
The people know who the real criminal is
Those inside the palace, or me here on the road
They can bind my hands but not my words
In my head there are a thousand sheets of paper
Road of exile, road of exile
Southward, southward
Though the brush breaks, the ink does not dry
Road of exile, road of exile
The sea is calling me
I crossed the pass and the world ended
No — where it ended, the sea began
The waves come in and catch my ankles
The horizon reads out my sentence
The boatman rows, the gulls cry
I look back and the mainland is going away
The king has thrown me out
But the sea is taking me in
Though the brush breaks
The ink does not dry