Wolves are cold-blooded, their emotions unseen; tigers eat meat but forget vegetarian meals.
They only vent their madness to let it out, sleeping under moonlight and burying all joys and sorrows.
Shaking off the winds and waves around them, they stroll at dawn and dusk with heaven and earth as their tent.
Peering into the hustle and bustle of the world, fame and fortune sway; common people rush about in high spirits,
Travelling across the four seas, they sing and chant, leaving a pleasant sound that ripples far and wide,
Heaven endows them with great talent and divine power, showing signs in the mountains and forests, with rainbows by their side.
The poem provided by bugs is worth a look.
Wolves entering a flock of sheep are unruly; tigers leaping across plains empty the streets. I love this land,
Only finding true joy in holding up an umbrella against the odds, being an unknown warrior in the global village.
More red faces sing passionately, making it hard to leave without letting go.
It's hard to break through the noise of the world and change appearances, allowing themselves to be wild without fearing calamity.